The First Taken
by AlyGardiner
Summary: Peter and Claire's daughter from the future comes to present time to right the wrong and to stop the dawning apocalypse. The pair is soon pulled in a world they know they need to save. Paire, AU.
1. The Vigilante's Daughter

**The First Taken**

Pairings: Peter/Claire

Summary: In a world where metahumans run wild, and wars are always a possibility, a daughter from the future comes to present time to right the wrong and stop the dawning of a new apocalypse.

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING, except for more than a few OC characters.

A/N: This started as a story with the word hopeless written on it but I have a rough outline on where it's supposed to go. This first chapter is set 19 years in the future. Please review if you want more of the First Taken!

* * *

**_Let there be mercy when the last has fallen. __Let the love stay when the bride has gone. Let God do his job when others give up hope. Let there be a hero when the first is taken._**

Chapter One: The Vigilante's Daughter

Dawn broke as the two siblings reached the roof. One was a raven-haired girl carrying a samurai sword behind her back, the other a stern-looking young man with his hands in his trench coat pockets.

"Long time, huh?" the girl asked, looking at the view.

It's the only salvation she had, looking at the view. After everything that happened, after being to hell and back, the view is as beautiful as she remembers it. Blue overlapping with pink in the sky, as surviving birds of the night fill the empty spaces.

"Very," the young man says.

"What's the word from Mom?" the girl looks away from the view to look at her twin brother.

"It's been a tough week. They're talking about closing down the refuge," he says.

The refuge, she remembers. She's spent countless times there, healing the wounded, and mourning the lost. The refuge, simply put, is salvation for tortured metahumans. Men and women pour in everyday in search for hope, in search of heroes in the broken world.

"Why?" the girl asks.

"They're saying that the government isn't letting them accommodate this many terrorists," her companion answers.

Terrorists. The word seems sour to her. Like a knife stabbing her heart. When did they become terrorists? When Hiro Nakamura broke into the FBI? When DL Hawkins killed government men? When was the moment that sent everything awry?

"Michael, do something for me. Don't say that word again," the girl looks at the view again. Michael chuckles at his sister's comment.

"Any casualties?" she asks.

"Mohinder," Michael answers.

Mohinder. The name is everything to her. The man who basically raised her when her father left and the man who taught her of alleles and evolution leaps.

"Hannah, I'm sorry," Michael puts her hand comfortingly on her sister's shoulder.

"You shouldn't be. Everything's been shit since Dad died," Hannah said, looking at her brother.

Michael Gabriel, his full name. She always liked it. It was biblical, saying that Michael would always be her angel. Their parents had always been religious ever since the world broke. When they welcomed twins, it was only appropriate to name them biblical names.

Hannah was brought into the world carrying two beautiful names: Hannah Sarah. The first, her mother explained when she was eight, meant beauty, the second was princess. Truth be told, Hannah never thought she did her names justice. Michael did, though. He fought everyday and there were already people in his debt, calling them their angel.

"How nice I finally get to meet you two," a menacing voice broke Hannah's chain of thought.

The twin siblings turned around and saw a mismatched figure. His left leg was limping, yet that made him even more sinister. The right side of his face was burnt, completely charred.

"Sylar," Hannah said. She drew her sword, preparing to fight.

"You know, your father did the same thing. Pity you have to end up like him," the killer said.

Hannah's heart clenched. She never liked talking about her father, and hearing it from his murderer was much, much worse. She saw Michael taking out his hands from his pockets, revealing a ball of fire in each of them.

"Brilliant. Your father never had time to get that power. I guess I beat him to it," Sylar smiled.

"You don't touch him," Hannah said. She drew her sword so that it touched Sylar's neck.

"I never asked, Hannah, what exactly can you do?" he asked, twiddling his thumbs. Hannah looked at him.

"I can kill you," she said.

He laughed, sending chills down her spine. "No one can kill me. Not after your father tried. And look where it got him," he said.

In her head, she repeated her father's lines like a mantra. _Give me a world to save_, as she plunged the departed Hiro Nakamura's sword into Sylar's gut. _Lend me a heart to love_, as she held on to Michael planning to get away. _Grant me a life to lead_, as she saw Michael's frozen face.

On her brother's back, she felt a sharp tip of her sword. Sylar had risen, and got out the instrument of his makeshift death only to kill another. _Take me, Lord, to a better place_, as she saw Michael's body drop to the floor, a signal of loss. Sylar crouched down to face him, but instead drew his glare to his agape sister.

_Let me get out of this hell_, she closed her eyes, the scene disappearing. She was drawn into oblivion and dark spaces. _Let me right this wrong _was the last line as Hannah Sarah Petrelli landed on earth nineteen years earlier.

* * *

A/N: I'm really proud of this first chapter. And yes, to clear up future confusion, Hannah and Michael are the children of Peter and Claire in the future. The saying at the top is written by yours truly. Yes, I didn't know I was poetic, either.

-Aly


	2. Our Lies, Our Future Allies

A/N: What you need to know: Claire is 18, in college, and after the explosion, she was forced to live with the Petrellies. When Hannah comes into the picture, she and Peter are now pulled into a world they know they need to save..

This chapter was written really fast, for some reason, so expect sloppiness. As for those people who expected action-adventure in this chapter, too bad. But hopefully this will end your confusion, and you will still read it.

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Chapter Two: Our Lies, Our Future Allies

_**Had there been a happier moment, we would have stayed. Had there been love, we would have cared. Had there been a God, we ask ourselves. **_

"This party sucks," Claire's companion, Lisa, said.

They'd been invited to some college party thrown by some guy named Brandon who Lisa insisted had a crush on Claire. Brandon was nice, a handsome nineteen-year-old, but she just wasn't interested. As she sipped her drink, she thought about her family.

The one she was forced to leave back at Texas, and the one she was forced to live with in New York City. It had been alright, Nathan was nice out of guilt, and Heidi was good to her, showering the eighteen year old with presents. But the best part was she didn't have to pretend in front Peter.

He knew she hated living with them, missed her family that it gave her heartache, and he wasn't scared in telling the blonde his secrets, too. In fact, the presence of Peter made the living arrangements less, well, suck-ish.

"Claire, you with me?" Lisa waved her hand over Claire's eyes. "Yeah, yeah, sure," she said, as she pulled away from her fantasy of Peter.

* * *

Peter was never a good sleeper. This night was the embodiment of that. He tossed and turned in his sleep, and so decided to go down and eat something. Nathan and Heidi were still out from dinner; Monty and Simon were already sleeping, which made the mansion plenty quiet.

The empath walked to the kitchen, and took out a fresh pint of ice-cream. He didn't even care what the flavor was, he just wanted to eat. Peter sat down, and, even from his seat at the dining table, he could see framed moments on the table. All of them were of family, Nathan with Monty and Simon, Nathan and Heidi, Nathan and Peter, but none of them included even one picture of Nathan and Claire.

The only picture of Claire on the table was with Peter himself. He remembered the day, it was when Claire celebrated her eighteenth birthday, a day he used to long for before he found out she was his niece.

For years he'd shrugged off the feeling as an innocent crush on the damsel in distress, but living with Claire surely put that assumption out the window. Yes, truth be told, he _liked _his niece, in a way that was less than ideal.

His chain of thought was broken when the door was knocked. He got up, taking with him the pint of anonymously-flavored ice-cream, and opened the door. In front of him, was a beautiful dark-haired girl. She looked about eighteen, with her look more mature, more, what was the word, worldly.

"Peter Petrelli?" she asked.

Peter smiled at her, and said, "Yeah, that's me."

"Hi, my name's Hannah," she extended her hand, a hand he took, "I think we need to talk."

* * *

Someone really needed to save her. Good God, Claire was getting bored, getting tired of the same charade. One hot guy, one college party. She was talking to Brandon, the guy who was hosting the party.

He constantly brushed his hair, like he thought that was so cool. By his slurred talking, Claire assumed he was drunk. Where was Peter when she needed him? Her cell phone rang. Saved by the bell, she thought. Claire gave Brandon the one minute finger in which he responded with another swig of his beer.

"Hello?" she spoke loudly into the phone, over the music she swore died out years ago.

"Claire? It's Peter," the other line said.

She took the call outside, and was relieved there was no echo of the music. "Peter? What's up?" she asked her uncle.

"Claire, there's someone that needs to see us," he said, "Can you come to the mansion?"

"Yeah," Claire said, "Yeah, sure."

* * *

Hannah came to have mixed feelings about her father, mostly because of his future abandonment to his family. He looked younger here, without a care in the world, or a weapon in his hand.

His dark hair had bangs, not the crew cut he had the future. Her father from the future almost always had a solemn, morbid look on his face, but this Peter was smiling at her, no crease of worry on his face. He looked so handsome.

"I'm sorry to ask," Peter said, "but can't you tell me now who you are?"

Hannah chuckled and answered, "I could, but it's best that I tell you when Claire's here."

"She has something to do with you?" Peter asked.

_Everything. She has everything to do with me. _"Yeah," Hannah said.

Good Lord, was this awkward or what? Plus, she had to tell him that she was his daughter? How was he supposed to take that? Based on what her mother told him about her father, not very well, Hannah concluded. The door opened, revealing a blonde beauty.

At first, Hannah didn't recognize her, with her youth, her blonde hair that cascaded down, like a beautiful waterfall, but soon saw it. The smile on her face, the cheekbones. This was her mother.

"Hi, Peter. So sorry I'm late," Claire said.

She walked over to the two sitting down, and smiled at the dark-haired stranger. "Hi," she greeted her.

Hannah smiled at her mother, not knowing how much she'd really changed. In the future, there was always worry somewhere in her face, even as she was smiling, and Claire had dyed her hair a dark red in the future.

Now, she was blonde and, like Peter, she had no care in the world. To her, the world was saved when they saved Peter from the explosion. Far from it. "Claire, this is Hannah. She says she needs to talk to us," Peter said to his niece, and patted to the seat next to him for her to sit.

"What's up?" the blonde asked.

"You've probably heard stranger things but," Hannah began, "I'm from the future." Peter thought, _yeah, I've heard stranger things. Like Claire was my niece. _

"There's something else, though," Hannah said to her future parents.

"What? You're warning us about the impending future?" Claire asked, chuckling.

She'd been expecting this sort of thing. She guessed being a freak that can re-grow her skin came with the whole package.

"Yeah, sort of, but I'm also here to ask you to save it," Hannah said.

"Look, I thought we saved the world already. All I want to be now is normal," Claire said, knitting her hands with Peter's, which caught him offguard. The empath felt electric shocks revel through his body at her touch.

"I came from 19 years in the future. From what I've seen, and from what I know about you two, you won't let that happen to the world," Hannah crossed her arms.

"What exactly happens?" Peter asked.

"We're considered terrorists. Us, the metahumans. We live in captivity, in fear. The normals don't believe us; say that we're the ones that make the world break. They think if one of us goes spoiled, all of us are. But we aren't. Some of us fight like hell to save them, to save everyone. But still, they think we're a bunch of scum," Hannah seemed enraged.

Peter hadn't heard the girl talk more than a string of sentences since her arrival, and this shocked him.

"Two weeks from now, 9 villains escape, causing the series of events that lead to the future. And that future includes deaths every day, bombs and explosions are always likely. When I left, they were talking about an Armageddon to bring everyone down."

Claire's grip on Peter's hand was almost a titanic touch. He was feeling numb, but he let it slide.

"There's something else you should know," Hannah said, as if the bombshell she just dropped wasn't enough.

"I'm your daughter." Claire looked up, facing the stranger.

"Whose? Mine or Peter's?" she asked. God, she was making it harder. "Actually, both of you," Hannah said.

* * *

Claire and Peter decided to take a break. Hannah agreed. Claire disappeared into her bedroom, and Peter in his. When she got there, she banged herself against her door, colliding her with wood. She put her hands on her face, and thought.

_No, this is wrong. Peter is your uncle. You do not have children with your uncle. As much as you fantasize about it-No. Bottom line, you do not have children with your uncle! _

Claire groaned. Claire sometimes thought about it, maybe there was an error, a mistake. Nathan wasn't her father; Peter wasn't his brother, something along those lines.

Sometimes she hoped that the daughter Nathan had with Meredith was still out there, and the said daughter wasn't Claire. It was merely a coincidence. And when the daughter was found, Nathan would have a warm reunion with his real daughter, and Claire would confess her feelings to her ex-uncle.

Truth be told, she absorbed herself in these fantasies whenever it was possible. But, in reality, even if the fantasy came true, who was she to say if Peter felt the same way?

* * *

Peter was shocked. His face said it all. But as he fell on his bed, he had an epiphany. If he and Claire had a daughter in the future, surely that said they had a happy ending, even if it was set in an apocalyptic background.

Surely that would mean she had feelings for him, too. He was lost in a naïve fantasy, a dream that felt too good to be true. Even so, even if he and Claire had their happy life, it was still planted in his head that they would save the future. They had to.

* * *

Hannah was somewhat accustomed to being left alone by her parents. She and Michael had spent years practicing. Whenever their father left for battles, or whenever their mother would join, they were all alone. They would train with their powers.

Michael with his balls of fire, and Hannah with her biological weaponry. For years, Michael had said that her power was cooler, that the power to turn any part of her body into a weapon was way cooler. But Hannah always thought her older-by-seven-minutes brother's power of fire was awesome.

Evan, their mentor, would display his own powers of plasma generation to shut them both up. Hannah never really liked Evan: he kept shooting flirtatious looks to her mother whenever Peter wasn't around, and had a morally gray way to look at the world. Peter and Claire came back, both wearing mixed expressions on their faces.

"Hannah," Peter said, nudging her to sit back down. "As much as Claire and I are shocked that you are our daughter, we want to save the world."

Hannah was smiling, a first for her. Peter already saw the changes in her face: the way her whole appearance morphed around the grin. "Good," she said. "You think we can do it? Just the three of us?" Claire asked. "Maybe not, but I know someone that I know will be willing to help us," Hannah said.

* * *

Somewhere in the Nevada desert, a raven-haired vigilante sat around, draining herself in her thoughts. She was dressed in a black cat suit; her breasts were the main attraction to it.

Her accomplice, a silly young boy, had said that there was no point to wearing it; they were saving the world, not screwing it, he had said. She had laughed at the boy's comment.

The boy had been the only one she could talk to for the past few years and yes, she cared for him, but, truthfully, she was just his partner. She was like the drunken mother who refused to take care of her son.

What a Hallmark movie that would make. The phone rang in their little shack, unexpected. The boy went to answer while the 23-year-old watched. She saw him nod at the person, and hang up after a few moments.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Some guy named Petrelli," he answered, grabbing his jacket.

"And?" she stood up. The boy smiled, and said, "Seems we got to save the world." What fun.

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A/N: I will be on hiatus for a week, so do not expect a new chapter soon. Please review!

-Aly


	3. The Future Coming

A/N: I'm backkk!! Miss me? Thanks all for reviewing, you guys gave me the biggest shock ever! Thank you!

What YOU need to know Part 2: This chapter is set in the future Hannah left behind, so Claire does not know that she time traveled to 19 years to the past. This chapter answers the question of how and why Peter died in the future. It's very Claire-centric. There are loads of memories here, and loads of Paire. Enjoy!

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**Chapter Three**

"**The Future Coming"**

**There is no worse death than family. Your children, your kin, they are your life. But what happens to that life when they are gone? You are a walking shadow, my child. **

Micah tried to pull Claire away from the scene, but she didn't budge. When she saw the event, the catastrophe that led to gossip around town, she screamed. Her son, her baby boy, was dead.

A trail of blood over his head, and his head completely cut off and open. In her years of working at the refuge, she had seen many 'Sylar' deaths, ranging from children to senior citizens, heads cut open, their brains removed, but seeing her son like this, the son that used to be the life of the party, the one who always had a joke to spare whether or not the world was going to hell, was too much to bear.

She sobbed in Micah's arms, leaned closer to the young man and, unexpectedly, gave him some advice: "Don't let your children out of your sight, Micah." To this, the strapping man looked to his wife, Molly, holding his newborn son, and looked concerned.

* * *

"_Mommy, we're going to be late!" he yelled. The eight-year-old and his twin sister were going to Molly and Micah's wedding. A simple one, they said, because who needed a big wedding when the world could end today?_

_Claire was dressing Hannah when Michael yelled. The little girl was beautiful, wrapped around a little purple dress she insisted she liked but Claire heard it looked like pretty puke. _

"_Alright, I'm coming!' she yelled back playfully. She saw her son sprawled on the couch and asked, _

"_Now, where's Daddy?" "Right behind you," Peter said. She felt his breath on her neck and immediately thought she lost her breath. She turned and gave her husband a kiss. _

"_Alrighty, kids, ready to go?" Peter asked his two children. "Yeah!" the twins yelled. Peter picked his daughter up with a grunt and left with his wife and son. _

* * *

"Are you better?" Niki asked. Her old friend, the fellow mother, Claire invited over for comfort. She hadn't really aged, Niki.

Her blonde hair tinted with gray ones, and a few aging wrinkles, but other than that, she was the same youthful Sanders Claire knew. For years, Claire had thought Niki was her long lost kin.

They'd been through pretty much the same things: not-really-sane families, discovering abilities, losing husbands. Now, Claire had something over her: she had now lost her child.

"Honestly?" Claire looked into her friend's blue eyes. Then looked down again to her hot chocolate and said, "No. Not at all."

* * *

"_It's a boy!" Peter yelled into the crowd. Heidi hugged her brother-in-law. Nathan gave his award-winning smile to his brother and Molly clapped her hands. _

"_And a girl!" At this, it was a shocker, at first, but Nathan whooped louder, and Molly ran to give him a congratulatory hug. _

"_Can we see them?" Molly asked. "Yeah, come on," he said and led the group to Claire. The young bride had two babies in her arms, one in a pink blanket on her right, the other in blue and on her left. _

_Niki and Heidi 'aww'ed at the babies, and sat themselves at the foot of Claire's bed. "What are their names?" Micah asked. "We talked about it. A lot, and Peter and I decided to name the girl, Hannah Sarah," Claire said, smiling to her newborn daughter. _

"_And the boy?" Heidi asked. Claire then glanced to her oldest, and saw that he was a spitting image of his father, but with Claire's green eyes. He was absolutely beautiful._

"_Michael Gabriel," Claire answered._

* * *

What was worse to Claire was that not only did she lose her son; she lost her daughter, too. Hannah was nowhere to be found, as if she was never on the scene in the first place.

"Claire, I'm so sorry for your loss," someone said. Claire was too lost in her own misery to turn around. But she recognized the voice, someone familiar, someone who cared for her.

It was Julia, her fellow worker at the refuge. She was a pretty blonde soul, who cared so much for everyone who walked into the refuge's doors. To many, she was the life of the party, the one who healed everyone's sick wounds. Literally.

Not since Linderman had there been a healer in their midst. It came in handy a lot of times. But this time, Claire's wound couldn't be healed.

* * *

_Her years were numbered by funerals. Matt Parkman's, Nathan and Heidi's, now she stood at the podium at her father's. Noah Bennet died on the job, in a humanly fashion: with a simple gunshot. _

_The only thought that crossed her mind was _he didn't even live long enough to see me get married. _She twiddled with her engagement ring as she stood, facing friends and family of the Bennet family, even the Haitian was invited. No one could deny that he was probably the only one who really knew who her father was in the Company. She saw Peter's face amongst the crowd, which gave her strength._

"_My father was an honorable man, and I loved him," she began. "For half of my life, his job had been a lie, his double life. But what remained true was that he loved us. He did all he could to save us, to protect us from the world. But even my father couldn't do that."_

_She paused and took her breath and continued: "My father's funeral is not the first I have attended, and I doubt it will be the last. Now as we lay him to rest, dozens of others are doing the same." _

_She realized this was becoming a lecture to save the world, so she let out the tears that threatened to come and continued to talk about her father, "Noah Bennet was my guardian, he was the one who loved me, who taught me my ABCs. Not only that. He taught me that the world is dangerous; he taught me how to wield a gun. These lessons live with me, through life and death. So here I proclaim, Noah Bennet is never truly gone, as long as I may live, he is never really dead." _

* * *

She said she needed to be left alone. They understood. Claire Petrelli locked herself in her room, and sobbed. The tears that she kept locked inside for half the day, came out, streaming down her cheeks like a waterfall.

She sobbed not only for her children, for Hannah and Michael, but also all the people she lost along the way. This was her turning point, this was where she realized what she learned and lost along her journey.

She learned love from Peter, learned family from both the Bennets and the Petrellis, learned the meaning of pure, unconditional adoration from both her children.

What she lost was easy: she lost everyone. Her family, her friends. The world she grew up in, she lost, too. She grabbed her jacket from her bed, and left her room for the graveyard.

* * *

_They laid naked in the bed, only covered with blanket sheets. "Do you think we should have done that, since the kids are here?" Claire asked her husband. _

"_Yes, actually. Claire, I've been holding back for 2 days, and I love you too much," he smiled and gave her a swift kiss on the lips. "Besides, Hannah and Michael are asleep, I doubt they heard anything." _

"_You know what? You're right," Claire said, facing Peter, "And they're still asleep…" _

"_And I thought I was the dirty-minded one, Mrs. Petrelli," Peter said as Claire kissed him passionately._

"_Mommy! We want ice-cream!" Michael yelled. _

_Claire sighed, as she crawled out of bed. She took her clothes from the floor and kissed her husband swiftly and asked, "Rain check?" Peter smiled as he took his shirt from foot of the bed. "You betcha," he said. _

* * *

Oddly enough, she was the only one present at the graveyard. No mourner gave to grieve for their lost this time of day. The Petrellis had a family plot, already filled with Nathan, Heidi and Peter.

This time it would occupy Michael. Wind blew in her red hair, a color she decided to dye after her 20th birthday. Peter never really minded, but always said she'd always be blonde in his eyes.

She thought about dying it blonde again, for Peter after his death, but somehow, she couldn't. This was her identity now. Not Claire Bennet, the helpless blonde cheerleader that needed to be saved all the time, but Claire Petrelli, the wife, the mother.

She fingered Peter's name on his headstone and was overcome with the same emotion she felt when it was the night she found out he died.

* * *

_Normal day, she thought at the beginning. Peter had a battle today, with who he didn't say. She was the helpless army wife once again, while her soldier husband went out to fight. But somehow, today was different. Instead of taking his crew that consisted of DL and Hiro, he went alone this time. _

"_I love you," he said, and kissed her goodbye. _

_He hugged both his children on the way out, and instantly, Claire knew she shouldn't have let him go. But too late, he was already gone. No, you're thinking too hard, he'll come back. He always does, she assured herself. _

_She occupied her day with playing with her now ten-year-old twins. Michael had already manifested his ability of fire, now it was only Hannah. Day became night, and Claire was getting tired._

"_Is Peter back yet?" she asked Julia. _

"_Nope, haven't seen him," the blonde answered. _

"_Hmm, okay. I better get going, the twins are getting restless," Claire said and bid goodbye to her friend. _

_That night, she received the biggest shock of her life. Mohinder came by on a surprise visit, and knocked on the Petrelli's door._

"_Mohinder? What's wrong?" she asked the Indian man._

"_Claire, I'm so sorry," Mohinder said, "We found Peter's body."_

"_And? This is no big deal, Mo. He'll regenerate," Claire sad._

"_No, I don't think he will. Sylar took his brain, Claire. He can't heal," Mohinder said. Claire's heart broke into fractures. "Claire, Peter's dead." _

"_No!" she screamed to the man. she hit him multiple times on the chest, out of anger. _I shouldn't have let him go. _Then she leaned closer to Mohinder, and the Indian man unexpectedly grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a warm embrace. "Ssh, it's okay," he said. _

* * *

_That night, Claire tried not to wake her children. She sobbed in her room, and then stripped to nothing more than her underwear and put on one of Peter's shirts. _

_It barely brushed the top of her thighs, it was comfortable, and most importantly, it smelled of Peter. Of cedar, of dried blood. It smelled like Peter. She slept like that, wearing the shirt of her late husband. _

_Claire put her hand on Peter's side of the bed, and cried._

_Hiro Nakamura came by the next day, his mournful face filled with grief. It was still morning, and the children weren't awake yet. Claire didn't know how to tell them. "Claire," he said, sitting down next to her at the coffee table. "I'm so sorry." _

"_Everyone's been saying that, Hiro. I don't need pity," Claire looked up to the Japanese man who had a sleek ponytail, "I need Peter." _

"_Claire, there is nothing I can say to make this better. But I can tell you that Peter left a letter for you, for all of you," Hiro reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a tattered letter written on yellowish paper. _

_Claire immediately recognized the writing as Peter's. Hiro left with a kiss on Claire's hair. She read it, and soon, she was crying. Stupid Peter, stubborn Peter. In the letter, he addressed that his death was not unexpected: he planned it. _

_He planned his death because he thought Sylar would stop once he took Peter's powers, it would all end. Tears streamed down the redhead's cheeks, and fingered the last part of the letter, dedicated solely to Claire:_

Claire, I've been in love with you since we ran into each other at Homecoming. Do you still remember? I died at 8.12, and all I could think about was you. You, Claire. The jail cell incident was merely reassurance for my feelings.

When you said I was your hero, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I got back to New York, and soon, my girlfriend, Simone, was killed. Truth be told, I didn't shed a real tear for her. All I could think of was what if it was you that was killed? I died again, by Sylar's hand. You saved me.

I really do owe you my life, Claire. I was resurrected by you, but when I saw that it was you who saved me, I lost my breath again. I died again when Nathan told me you were my niece, the next few years, I was a walking shadow. Until that day.

You just turned nineteen, and you kissed me. I finally got my life back, my life meant something again. Nathan never really approved, but he saw that you were the only one who made me happy.

And you really have made me happy. Now I fight everyday, and it breaks my heart because this is the world our children need to live in. So I'm making this sacrifice for you, for all of you. Claire, I love you. Please forgive me for what I'm about to do.

My heart and soul is yours, forever,

Peter

* * *

Now, Claire remembered the speech she gave at Peter's funeral, about his sacrifice, about his final choice. "He did this because he thought it would be better," she said, "So let's pray that it gets better." It didn't get better.


	4. Alliance

A/N: So sorry it took soo long to update! And a memo to those Paire spiters, flame me, and you will regret it. Mostly because it's AU, and if you dis-ship Paire, why you even readin this?

Yet Another What you need to know (Last One, Promise): Sylar was captured by the Company after Kirby Plaza, landing him in Level 5 (yes, people, canon) with a few other canon characters: Flint, Knox, Jesse and The German. Matt died at Kirby Plaza, but DL survived, and Molly went with Mohinder.

This chap is dedicated to Jim, who assured me everyone gets bad reviews, especially when you're in the Paire community.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"**Alliance"**

One Day Later

Morning. Hannah stirred in her sleep. She had her sleep on the lumpy Petrelli couch which was, surprisingly, comfortable. Or maybe it was just her.

This was a girl who abandoned her remnants of a bed when she was twelve to save the world. For years, her shut-eye was very deprived, and this was probably the most amazing sleep she'd had in a few years.

For a day now, Peter and Claire told Nathan that Hannah was merely a long-lost relative visiting. Nathan, amazingly, bought it as he thought that Hannah looked like Peter. The future prodigy crawled out of the couch and woke up to her mother's sunny smile.

"You're up," she said.

Hannah grunted and answered, "Yeah. What about you? How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," Claire chuckled. "Listen, you fell asleep before we talked about them. Maybe we can continue now."

The 'them' in question were the two strangers Peter called the night before: Mia Jared, an Australian vigilante with the power of super speed and Evan, her future mentor who was now a little over eighteen and had the powers of plasma generation.

"We should wait for him," Hannah said.

She felt awkward. What was she supposed to call him? Dad? Or plain Peter? It felt confusing to be stuck between two names.

"You can call me Peter, you know that?" someone said.

Claire and Hannah turned to see Peter dressed in a simple white t-shirt and shorts. Hannah smiled at her father.

"And Claire's right. We should at least know about who we're fighting with," Peter said, moving to Claire's side. Hannah looked up to her father, wearing a concerned look on his face, and answered, "Fine."

* * *

Two hours flew by with ease. The future daughter was talking with her parents with ease, even adding in a joke or two.

Claire saw that her daughter was getting more comfortable with them, and placed a seat next to her on the couch while Peter took his original position of standing right in front of them.

She told them of Mia and Evan, about how they were the best in the business in the future, about her life in the future, and about Peter's death. It was a subject she never wanted to discuss; it was the event that, she believed, was the one that broke her. But her pain was miniscule when it was compared to her mother's heartache.

Hannah never told them this information, of their future love, because these people standing in front of her weren't Mom and Dad, the parents whose love was undeniable, a love that was the strongest amongst them, they were just Peter and Claire, the more-than-friendly pair of uncle and niece.

The phone rang, shocking Hannah. Peter went to answer it, and hung up after a few moments.

"Was it Mia and Evan?" Claire asked her uncle.

"Uhh, no. It's Mohinder. Seems we forgot we invited Molly and him to lunch today," Peter slapped his forehead.

"Oh my God, I totally forgot," Claire said, getting up. "Is it okay? I mean, Mia and Evan could be coming soon," she said to her daughter.

"No, it's fine. They can't teleport, and judging by that, Mohinder and Molly will be long gone when they get here," Hannah smiled.

"Settles it," Peter said, "They'll be coming over for lunch, and you," he said to Hannah, "are joining us."

* * *

Was it supposed to be awkward? No, awkward wasn't the word for it: the perfect word for it was weird.

It was weird to see Molly Walker-soon-to-be-Sanders waltz through the Petrelli Mansion, at only thirteen years of age. It was weird to look older than your babysitter. Yet here she was: Molly Walker wearing her usual sunny disposition, and there Hannah was, a good four years older.

The Molly Hannah remembered always had Micah by her side, or her son, a joyful kid by the name of Ben.

"Hi, Peter," Molly said, and gave the older man a warm embrace.

"Hey, kiddo," Peter said, pulling away from the child's hug. "You been doing your homework?"

"Who cares about homework when you can save the world?" Molly smiled at Peter.

"True," Claire said from the background.

Molly ran towards the blonde and sunk into her arms.

Hannah stood awkwardly in the background, waiting for, at least, some sign of damn recognition. She was dressed in clothes Claire had in the closet that, amazingly, fit the prodigy quite well. Yet it was a little loose at the waist for her, but who cared anyway?

"Molly, Mohinder, this is Hannah," Claire introduced the Indian man and his ward to the dark-haired stranger.

Molly shook Hannah's hand, and so did Mohinder. In a few moments, the thirteen-year-old warmed up to Hannah, even telling her of her school, and her previous adventures caused by her clairvoyant abilities.

They made their way to the living room, while the three others made themselves comfortable in the dining room. Peter had served some tea for the three of them, and some juice that Molly immediately gulfed down.

"How's Molly holding up?" Peter asked the Indian man in the dining room.

"It's been a hard two years, but I think she's better now," Mohinder answered.

"You can't possibly think that, Mohinder. I mean, it's been two years, but that doesn't mean it got easier for her. She lost her hero that night," Claire said. "I mean, I don't know what I would feel if I ever lost Peter."

_I wouldn't live a full day without him, _she thought. Mohinder changed the subject.

"Who is she?" Hannah could hear Mohinder saying amidst Molly's chipper talking. Maybe she manifested a new ability of super hearing, or maybe it was just the years of eavesdropping playing its part.

"It's a long story, Mo," Peter chuckled.

"Story of my life, Peter," Mohinder replied.

"It's not just that. It's real complicated," Peter said.

"Are you listening in?" Molly asked Hannah.

The prodigy turned back to the brown-haired girl, and awkwardly smiled: _Caught in the act…_

Molly smiled back and asked, "What are they saying?" Hannah smiled. Molly moved closer to Hannah, and listened in.

"…do you really wanna know, Mo?" Hannah could hear Claire say.

"Surely it's not anything that complicated," Mohinder chuckled.

"Oh, you have no idea," Peter said.

And so it began, Peter and Claire told Mohinder about Hannah being their future daughter, unaware of the hidden audience in the living room. "Oh, good God," Hannah heard Mohinder say.

"You're Peter and Claire's daughter?" Molly asked, incredulous. Hannah merely shrugged at her thirteen-year-old companion. Because, if you were in her position, was there anything left to do?

* * *

Peter, Claire and Mohinder sat in silence in the dining room. Their drinks were left untouched, but good God, was Peter wishing for some hard scotch right about then. Mohinder's face was silent. Peter looked sideways to his niece, and saw her give him a 'what the hell are we going to do now?' look. The blonde's gaze went back to the Indian man's.

"Does Nathan know?" Mohidner asked, breaking their silence.

"No," Peter answered. "And he doesn't need to."

"Yes, he does, Peter. You and Claire having a future together…he needs to know," Mohinder said, gazing at Peter.

"That's exactly why he _doesn't _need to know. Me and Claire having a future together isn't exactly his cup of tea," Peter said, "Or anyone else's, for that matter."

"What about the mission? You told me Hannah told you to stop a league of supervillains. How are you going to do that and not let Nathan know about it?" Mohinder asked.

"That, we're not exactly sure, Mo, but what we're sure of is that we need to do this," Claire responded. "Our twisted personal life can wait after we save the world." Mohinder finally cracked a smile at Claire's comment.

"I know that both of you have found new allies, but I think Niki and DL might want to help," Mohinder said.

"No thanks, Mo. We already have five lives in danger, we don't need more," Claire said.

"Okay. But Molly and I will be staying at their place for a few weeks, so you'll know where to find us," Mohinder said.

"Thank you, my friend," Peter smiled.

* * *

Team Petrelli bid Molly and Mohinder goodbye a few minutes later. Hannah still didn't tell her parents that Molly found out, too. She figured the thirteen-year-old's knowledge of them wasn't a matter of world importance.

"What time is it?" Claire asked Peter. "Mia and Evan should be here soon."

"About 3," Peter glanced the big grandfather clock. "

They should be here by now," Hannah said.

She grew worried. If the two allies weren't coming, how were they supposed to save the world, just the three of them? Peter was powerful, of course, but who was to tell if he could battle 9 villains instead of the normal one? Plus the fact that this Peter was nowhere near experienced as her father, they might as well be going downhill.

The door knocked. Hannah's heart jumped and nudged her father to answer it. Claire and Hannah waited patiently like army wives for their beloved soldiers. Peter returned with a pair of odd-looking strangers.

One was a strapping young man with green eyes and messy brown hair. He was dressed in nothing more than simple jeans and a t-shirt to match. He looked about Hannah's age, but there were features that were unmistakably Evan: his strong jaw, his smirk.

His companion, on the other hand, Hannah never had the pleasure to meet in real life. But, somehow, she thought, it was for the better. Mia Jared was dressed in short, black leather shorts, and an equally black top that left her breasts nearly hanging out. But other than her stripper-like clothes, Mia Jared was as beautiful as they said she was.

Black hair that cascaded down her, straight and flowing, with full cheeks, and amazingly striking blue eyes with lashes to match. The vigilante smiled at the two women, but the biggest smile she delivered was to Peter. For some reason, Hannah's stomach churned at the sight.

"What exactly are we doing here? All Peter said was we had to save the world. Define save the world," Evan said, sitting down on the lumpy Petrelli couch.

"Stopping 9 supervillains in 10 days," Hannah explained, sitting opposite him.

"Hmm…Should I be preparing my will?" Evan asked.

"Not necessary. We have the best doctor right here," Peter said, smiling at Claire. "Claire's blood can cure anyone's wound."

"Handy," Evan smiled at Claire.

"These villains, Hannah, anyone we know? You haven't exactly given us their dossiers," Peter said.

Hannah smiled, and walked to the Petrelli computer. "I will," she said.

Soon, the screen was filled with unknown faces, of creepy-looking guys with tattoos, and women whose faces were tainted with pure sadness. One by one, Hannah introduced her four companions to their enemies.

"This is Flint," she said, "Has the power to emit blue flames, meaning he can burn you alive."

This description was matched with a picture of a white man with equally white hair. This continued with the following seven, some of them including Knox, a man with super strength, The German, their version of X-Men's Magneto, Jesse Murphy, a man with sound manipulation, and Natasha Christensen, a mysterious woman whose abilities were emotionally dependent, meaning her powers were based on her emotions at the time.

"But, that's only eight, Hannah," Claire said, as she saw Hannah turn off the computer. "Who's the last one?"

"I just figured he doesn't need a dossier. It's someone you guys know," Hannah looked at her parents.

"Which is?" Peter asked. Hannah looked down and answered her father with a, "Sylar."

* * *

While Hannah briefed the two strangers on Sylar, the man who was infamous for his 'skulling', Claire disappeared into the kitchen. Claire needed a drink. But all she could find was just water.

Maybe the Petrellis kept their booze somewhere safe. In the corner of her eye, she saw Peter enter her refuge of the kitchen.

"I can't believe we're back to this," Claire said. "I thought he was dead."

"Claire, it's okay. It's going to be fine," Peter wrapped her arms around, but was surprised when she pulled away from his embrace.

"Don't say that, Peter. The future's not written in stone. Just because we have more people on our side, doesn't mean that we're going to win. It only means putting more people in danger," Claire said, angered. "What if he tries to kill you again? God knows he succeeded the first time."

"No one's gonna hurt me. No one is gonna hurt anyone of us, you hear me?" Peter cupped her face with his hands. He then tried hugging her again. This time, she didn't pull away. The pair just stood there, unaware of the outside world.

* * *

Mia Jared had her share of one-night stands, but all of them ended in dissatisfaction. But she had the feeling that Peter Petrelli would be different. He would woo her, like no one else would.

But, then again, the top of her to-do list was already filled with 'save the world from 9 supervillains'. But, she bet Peter's own to-do list was filled with the same thing, and she was almost certain that he needed a little rebound himself. What with finding out he was going to have a daughter with his fuckin' niece, and not having the guts to do it already.

She figured he was the sort of person who kept his balls for special occasions, like fighting villains, not kissing his niece.

She walked into the kitchen, where Peter was sitting. The rest of Team Petrelli and Evan were in the living room, probably discussing game plans, knowing Evan. "Hey, Peter," Mia said, placing a seat next to him.

* * *

Next thing Peter knew, Mia's perfectly-manicured fingernails were on his shoulders. It felt weird, like a spider was about to latch itself onto his skin.

All he could think about then was Claire: her sunny smile, her pure concern for him, and the fact that he was head over heels in love with her. He finally admitted it to himself: He was in love. With his fuckin' niece.

What was more was that there was the fact that Hannah was their kid. Their daughter, their result of a night of passion. Peter couldn't help but smile at the fact that somewhere, some when in the future, he and Claire were happy. They were happy together.

But every time he was drenched in the perfect daydream, Nathan's angry face came looming back, his anger, and his disapproval. It always came back to it. There was no light at the end of the tunnel this time. But there was no turning back either.

Peter looked into Mia's eyes, striking blue that he wished were green, like Claire's. Before he knew it, he acted on impulse.

He crashed his lips against hers, feeling pure lust coming from it. But the only face on his mind wasn't the one he was kissing; it was the one he wished he was kissing: Claire.

* * *

A/N: Hope you guys like it! And remember, virtual cookies for anyone who reviews! And feel free to ask any question if you're confused.

-Aly


	5. Forgive Us, Father

A/N: Sorry it took soo long to update! But this was a fun chapter to write, hope you guys like it! A review reply: to aroura528, LOL. I haven't seen Pathology but I heard Milo was a whore in it...

In this chapter, we'll get a sorta more in-depth look at Mia, and Nathan makes a small comeback! This chapter is basically about Team Petrelli adjusting to the two new members, and yes, I'm back to my poetic intros!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"**Forgive Us, Father"**

**Is this not your fallen angel? Is this not your savior? Why shun her away when you love her? Is this not what you wanted? Or is this the mistake that broke? **

In the course of one day, Claire was already beginning to trust Evan. The brown-haired vigilante was somewhat funny in sarcastic senses, and sure, he was, as Hannah assured her, the best in the business.

His plasma blasts were uncalled for, but, yes, if targeted at the enemy, there would be no coming back. Claire woke up from sweet slumber only to find everyone else awake with waffles at hand.

"Mornin', Claire," Evan greeted her with a smile. "Waffle?"

Claire grinned back and sat next to Hannah. Heidi was the one preparing said waffles with maple syrup decorated on it. Monty and Simon were inexplicably enjoying their breakfast, while glancing worriedly at Evan.

Claire didn't even think about their reactions for the two strangers. They'd already warmed up to Hannah, without knowing the fact of her being their cousin. Nathan had done the same to his granddaughter-slash-niece. Good God, this was all getting so twisted.

She took the waffles from Evan's hand and smiled politely. "Claire? Where's Uncle Peter?" Monty asked. "We want to say goodbye before school."

"Still sleeping I guess," Claire said, beginning on her breakfast.

"Claire, be a dear and wake him up, please?" Heidi said.

Claire put down the fork and went upstairs to wake up her uncle.

The halls were empty of signs of an awake Peter. The halls used to be a, on days he slept over at the mansion instead of spending the night alone in his apartment, refuge for both Claire and Peter.

Before Hannah's arrival, they would wake up early only to find the other already awake. They would talk in the halls until others were finally awake. They hadn't talked in a while, without bringing up the inevitable fact of villains and saving the world.

As Claire knocked on his bedroom door, she thought maybe they should. Maybe they would finally talk about the awkwardness of having a future kid that clearly overstepped uncle-niece boundaries.

"Peter?" Claire asked when she heard no response.

She kept knocking until her hands grasped on the knob. It was open, which was weird since Peter wanted his privacy.

"Peter?" She was beginning to get worried.

But it was called a false alarm when she saw Peter sprawled on the bed, clearly enjoying his sleep. But the young Petrelli wasn't the only one. Next to him was a raven-haired vixen completely covered _in _blankets. Mia. Claire was right about this whole thing being twisted as hell.

What more evidence did she need after she saw this? She felt sick to her stomach at the sight of a stranger next to Peter. Something inside Claire's mind told her that it should be her next to Peter, the one to smell in his scent of cedar early in the morning. Shouldn't the fact of Hannah being their child be enough?

The fact that there was evidence Claire and Peter were happy together? Not caring about over-stepping boundaries, not caring about Nathan's reaction, not even caring about anything? In that moment, she almost wanted to choke Mia for ruining their happy future. But, then, she realized just how fucked up she was.

Claire turned for the door, admitting surrender, but Peter stopped her with a subtle, "Claire?"

* * *

Claire ran downstairs after that. She didn't want to see Peter and maybe his inevitable happiness from his night with Mia.

"Claire? Did you wake up Peter?" Heidi asked.

"Yeah, yeah, he's awake and well," Claire said, also thinking '_Can't say the same for me, though.' _

The sight of Peter and Mia_ together _was somewhat repulsive but it kept playing on and on again like a broken record.

Heidi disappeared into the living room with both of her sons, and Hannah asked, "Claire, you okay? You look pale." "Yeah, I mean, you look like you saw a ghost," Evan added.

Truth be told, seeing a ghost seemed better to her scenario.

"No, I'm not okay," Claire looked down at her uneaten waffles.

"What's up?" Hannah asked.

The future prodigy seriously did not see what was coming next. She did not expect her mother telling her that her father slept with another woman last night. She did not expect the woman to be Mia.

And, also, she did not expect her new ally by the name of Evan to fuckin' _laugh. _Yeah, she realized Evan was becoming more and more like an asshole every minute.

* * *

Claire saw them, she saw them together. He wanted to explain, that this was not what it looked like but, no, he concluded, this was exactly what it looked like. But, God, if only she knew he did it only to get Claire off his mind. Which didn't exactly work.

Mia was a fiery vixen, enough to get Claire off his mind during their little maneuver, but when Peter drifted off to sleep, he thought of Claire. He was fucked. And he didn't even think of Mia's feelings at the incident. Yesterday, Mia was just a tool for Peter, and only now he realized how insensitive that was.

"Leaving so soon?" Mia said, waking up.

Peter turned around, to see her with blankets pulled up to her chest. No man could deny Mia Jared was a beautiful woman, with those curves he got to experience firsthand, with those striking blue eyes, and that expression on her face that made you think she knew more than you.

Peter smiled at Mia, showing at least some compassion to his one-night stand. "Claire saw us, Mia. I think I should at least explain," Peter said, putting on the t-shirt from the previous night.

"Explain what, Peter? You slept with me, there should be no explaining," Mia said, "She's not your wife, Peter."

Peter paused at that, and looked at Mia right in the eyes. She was right. Mia was right.

"There's nothing to explain, except for the fact that you did this just to get her off your mind," Mia said.

How did she know? Was she a mind-reader or something? Or was it seriously that obvious? Peter sighed, and looked down. He went back to the bed, and said, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," Mia said. God, his one-night stand was actually growing to be an actual friend. For now, she was the only one that understood. "I'm just the rebound, right?" she said.

* * *

Peter went down after that, said goodbye to Monty and Simon before they went off to school, and found Claire was nowhere. The only person at the dining table was Evan, still munching on his waffles. Peter sat down next to him.

"Dude, bad move," Evan said.

Peter drank the orange juice on the table and responded with a, "Don't I know it." Evan chuckled at the older man's comment.

"Hannah's pissed, and Claire, well, she's Claire," he smiled.

Peter figured Hannah had a better reason to be pissed than Claire. She was his daughter, and this was probably less than ideal for her.

"You should probably talk to Hannah about it. I'm sure she's not exactly happy about the fact her father was banging another woman last night," Evan chuckled.

Peter sighed and said, "Oh, shut up."

* * *

Peter tried to avoid talking to either woman for another half of the day, which was hard to do since they lived in the same house. He would run into Claire in the halls, and see Hannah sprawled on the couch watching stupid reruns on TV.

But by lunchtime, the empath decided to talk to at least one of them. He chose Hannah, since he owed her an explanation than he did Claire. "Hannah, can I talk to you?" Peter asked when he saw her all alone outside. It was beautiful outside, colors appearing out of nowhere, and then disappearing once he began to enjoy them.

Hannah was sitting on the swing, a pretty little white thing Nathan bought for Claire once she moved in. The future prodigy looked at father, refusing to smile at him. But, nonetheless, she got up, took one last view outside and disappeared with her father inside. Peter led his future daughter upstairs to his room, but she stopped him in the halls.

"I know why you wanna talk to me, Peter," Hannah said. "It's about Mia, isn't it?"

"Yes," Peter answered. "I just figured I owed you an explanation, Hannah."

"Yes, you do. Explain why you would sleep with Mia when the love of your life is just there?!" Hannah's voice was raised.

If this was her actual father, she wouldn't have done it, but this was just Peter. And Hannah wasn't scared of raising her voice to prove his mistake.

"Look, Hannah. Claire's not the love of my life, okay?" Peter argued back.

"You're meant to be together, Peter. Why even take a chance that could ruin that?" Hannah yelled.

"Because I'm not your father, Hannah! I'm just Peter. I'm not your father," Peter said.

This was breaking his heart, because, truth was, he wanted to be her father. He wanted to be the hero Hannah saw growing up; he wanted to be the man that raised her, the man who she loved. But he couldn't, but this Peter, this him, wasn't willing to break the rules to love Claire.

* * *

Things were tense between Peter and the Petrelli women. Hannah was still pissed as hell and Claire was too awkward to admit her anger. She sided with her daughter on this issue, leaving Peter alone.

Evan wasn't exactly the most soothing person to talk to, Nathan wouldn't understand, so the only person that was even willing to talk to him and the person he was willing to talk to was Mia. Peter saw the vigilante at the dining table, drinking something that resembled cold milk.

"Hey," Peter greeted her awkwardly.

He sat next to her, and saw her smile. It was the first smile she gave him, and she looked beautiful doing it. She looked more sincere, more innocent when she smiled. She looked broken.

"Hey," Mia answered. "How did things go with Hannah?"

"Not good," Peter said.

"I'm sure. People in Uruguay could've heard you screaming, Peter," Mia said.

She had a sense of humor. A few minutes ago, Peter began listing down the things he liked about Mia. Maybe it was because he wanted so badly to get Hannah's angry words out of his mind.

For now, 'beautiful' and 'funny' were at the top of the list. But he knew that if he even tried to compile a list for Claire, it would outnumber Mia's by dozens.

"I'm sorry I used you," Peter said, out of nowhere.

Mia laughed, and answered, "It's fine, Peter. Stop apologizing."

Peter gave her his signature lopsided grin, and the two began laughing together. If anyone was watching, they would have mistaken the two as lovers. And, of course, that was what Claire thought since she was the one watching them.

* * *

"You need to control that, Evan!" Hannah yelled. They were outside, and Evan was blasting his plasma balls. The few plants that got hit were casualties.

"Control it? I have control, Hannie!" he answered in between blasts. The nickname was growing more and more annoying by the second, but Hannah let it slide.

"What if you hurt someone? You need to control it!" Hannah argued.

Evan stopped his blasts and looked at Hannah. "But isn't hurting people the reason I'm here?" he smirked.

Hannah looked at him seriously, and saw that his other hand was already glowing with another blast, aiming at the sky

"Evan, what are you doing?" she asked, worriedly.

"Proving that I don't need control. I already have it," he said, blasting it.

Evan was still looking at Hannah when it happened, and the sound was almost deafening. No denying it, it was the most powerful Evan ever emitted around them. Hannah closed her eyes, and didn't want to see the destruction caused by Evan's selfish mistake.

"Open your eyes, Hannie. Nothing's hurt," Evan whispered.

She didn't believe him, but opened her eyes nonetheless. He was right, even though the sound was deafening, and seemed as if it could've destroyed anything in its path, nothing was damaged.

The plants outside were in perfect condition, the sky was still beautiful. Hannah took a step forward, and then turned back to a smiling Evan.

"How did you..?" she asked.

"See, Hannie? I don't need control. I can hurt people if I wanted to, but I can also hurt nothing," Evan said.

At that moment, Hannah forgot the fact that Evan was, in fact, an asshole in her eyes. Hannah grinned broadly at the vigilante. Their tender moment was broken by an angry, "What the FUCK is going on?"

It was Nathan. Oh, shit.

* * *

A/N: Yes, people, oh shit...Anyways, I was thinking of adding more people to the team. It's between Niki and DL or Hiro and Ando. Please attach your opinion with your review coz I'm really stuck here!

-Aly


	6. Broken Bones

A/N: I meant to post sooner but my internet broke down...Anyways, thanks all for reviewing, especially faithfulwriter, who is one of my favorite Paire writers!! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter Six**

"**Broken Bones"**

**There must always be the better fighter. There must always be the better person, the Joker to my Batman. The personal question is that if I can take her down. **

Evan had his share of visits to the principal's office, until he was about fifteen, when he decided to drop out of school. No one even cared, he didn't have parents, the nuns at the orphanage were all expecting it, so he guessed, why not give the people what they wanted?

Evan never had a family, had no siblings, and, when he turned nine, no parents. As far as family went, Mia was all he had. Friends were scarce; the vigilante would always push away the people that even wanted to be friends with him.

Also, Evan also figured his career as a hard-hitting vigilante was going downhill, because what was the use of plasma balls when the biggest danger was probably a fire in an apartment building, and his abilities would make it_ so_ much worse. So, because of his dangerous ability, Mia did most of the saving. But when she let him on jobs, he rarely used his abilities; he only used the powers of his mind and muscle.

It was fate who dealt him a hand, giving him the chance to fully wield his abilities in battle, plus a pretty sidekick from the future.

There he was, standing shameful with Hannah by his side and Nathan Petrelli's eyes glued on him so hard Evan almost swore it burnt holes through his skin. It was the hardest visit to the principal's office, and Nathan was the scariest principal.

"Nate, you're home!" Evan heard the voice of Peter.

Nathan's eyes left Evan (_Thank God!_) to look at Peter and the woman by his side, Mia. Both were looking smiley-smiley while Claire stood in the background with a sullen look on her face. Something told Evan that she saw Peter and Mia get friendly.

The older Petrelli seemed to forget about the two teenagers outside, to ask Mia, "Who's this?"

Evan forgot: Nathan wasn't here when Evan and Mia arrived; he arrived home right about the time Peter was, uh, _doing _Mia.

Mia extended her arm, and shook Nathan's while answering, "Mia. Me and Evan," she nudged to Evan, "here are friends of Hannah."

He almost wanted to punch Mia for directing Nathan's attention back him.

"Yeah," Nathan said, "we need to talk about him."

* * *

Peter led the team to the living room, where Hannah was comfortable enough at the far side of the room while Evan sprawled himself, legs up, much to Hannah's disapproval.

"So, let me get this straight, Pete," Nathan looked at his younger brother. "You're putting together a team of freaks?"

Peter nodded, but winced at the freak comment. "It's, uh," Peter glanced at his future daughter then to his brother back again, "sorta a long story, Nate."

"Let me guess. You're saving the world?" Nathan chuckled.

Peter laughed to his brother pointing the obvious. "Yes, actually," he answered.

"Small problem, Pete," Nathan turned serious once more. "I can't have you using your powers here. It's not okay for me; it's not okay for the kids."

Evan felt a sting of injustice. Not since he discovered his abilities, there was not one day he didn't use his powers, for saving and/or for fun.

"But we sort of need to. Saving the world requires super powers," Evan piped up.

"What d'ya suggest, Evan? That we need to practice?" Hannah shot up.

"Why the hell not? Everyone here knows that we might not have control over our abilities, and the only way to learn is to make mistakes, right?" Evan said.

"The kid actually makes sense," Nathan said.

"Yeah," Evan nodded. "Besides, we could make our own version of X-Men." With that, Hannah smacked Evan on the arm.

"Question is, where?" Claire asked.

"Come on, Claire," Peter smiled. "This is New York. I bet there are already three abandoned warehouses in the area just waiting to be our safe haven."

Claire smiled at her uncle's comment. Clearly he already forgot about their previous awkwardness at the fact he slept with Mia. Nathan stood up, and prepared to leave.

"Hey, Nathan, you sure you don't wanna be part of this?" Peter asked, smiling. Nathan didn't have to answer; all he had to do was give his younger brother the deadly glare he always used to use.

* * *

Hannah was the only one out of the bunch that underwent training for her powers. Ever since she was eight years old, her days were counted with training with her mother, father and, during her later years, Evan.

Her biological weaponry first came as a simple act of turning her fist into a gun, but years went on and she evolved. She could shoot small missiles from her fingers, her feet would transform into rockets, and, one time, she discovered she could turn her one fist into a small boulder in which she used to smack Michael with.

But this time was different, none of the people around her were hard-hitting super heroes like the future, and there was no Michael by her side to get her up. Her father found the perfect place to practice: an abandoned warehouse not far away from the mansion.

Hannah looked around, and saw nothing more than a huge space, dark and dimmed. Empty cardboard boxes lied abandoned at the edge, while a few tattered clothing were strewn about. Something like water flowed on the cement floor.

There were only a few lights giving the space a glow, one from the big swinging lamp above them, the other coming from the Sun, through the few glass windows they had. Peter opened his arms, as if to welcome the four others to his strange abode.

"I know this was not what you all were expecting," he said. "But we're not here to get 5 star treatment, we're here to save the world."

In that one moment, Hannah saw a little glint of her father in Peter: his determination to save the world, and the people he loved.

"So what are we actually doing? We can't exactly be X-Men without a Professor X to supervise us," Evan said.

"That's it," Peter smiled. "Everyone is gonna be Professor X here. No one knows more than the other, so we're gonna supervise each other. We have no idea what are limits are, what might happen, so we always need the other to look out for us." Hannah could see Claire nodding seriously.

"This is all about being a team." When her father finished her speech, Hannah only had one thought in her mind: '_Screw this whole X-Men thing. As far as I know, we're already a team.'_

"Alright, team," Peter clapped his hands. "Ready?"

* * *

Mia started laps at the speed of light, without even breaking a sweat. Claire was tested when Evan started punching her, her nose healing at each blow she took. Hannah was practicing with her father, and kept changing her hands from bullets to the infamous small boulder.

She stopped once she realized her father wasn't really supervising her, he was just standing there with awe on his face. "What?" Hannah asked, smiling.

"Nothing," Peter looked up to her, "It's just, wow. How do you even control that?"

Hannah shrugged and answered, "I had the best coach."

At that moment, she was hoping for a little smile in return, at least some recognition that she was his daughter, but what she received was just a blank stare.

"Hey, Peter!" Mia called.

"What?" Peter asked back.

"C'mere, will you? I'm feeling kind of useless," Mia said.

Peter laughed and left Hannah's side. She could've sworn a part of her broke. She sat down and at the corner of her eye saw Evan looking sympathetic.

She immediately shrugged it off as a figment of her imagination: as far as she knew, 'sorry' wasn't in Evan's vocabulary.

* * *

"I've been running non-stop around here, and I'm getting bored," Mia smiled.

Peter laughed and answered, "Maybe you deserve a break, then." Both of them sat down on the part of the floor that was, fortunately, wasn't wet.

"How're things?" Mia asked, trying to make small talk with her one-night stand.

"Not good," Peter looked down. "As far as I know, Hannah hates my guts."

"She just needs her father," Mia said.

"That's just it, Mia. I can't be her father. All I can be is Peter," he said, his back colliding with the hard wall behind him. Mia tried to comfort him by putting her hand on his shoulder.

"I have a question for you," he said to Mia. "Yeah?" Mia asked. "How are you my friend even after I slept with you?" Peter asked.

She laughed and answered, "I'm full of surprises, Peter."

* * *

It had been the second time of day. Peter stopped practicing and disappeared into one corner of the warehouse, and thought of Claire.

He couldn't control it; he couldn't _not _think of her; her beautiful smile, her eyes, and her blonde hair. Her images plagued his mind, and he sort of hated it. He hated the fact that he could never fully love her, hated the fact that he would never ever forget her.

"Peter? All of us are tired, and I think it's time to go home," he heard Hannah's voice.

"Alright," Peter said, not facing her. "I'll catch up later."

He couldn't bear to look at Hannah, to look at his and Claire's daughter. Not now, not this time of day. "Are you sure?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah, I'll be right there. I'm fine, Hannah," Peter answered. The daughter that he and Claire poured their love to, _their_ daughter.

"Peter…" Hannah said, but Peter was losing it.

"I'm FINE, Hannah," he yelled, and, out of nowhere, he slapped her face.

The force knocked Hannah off her feet, and she fell down. She looked back up to her father, and blood trickled down her nose as she quickly wiped it off.

"Hannah..." Peter said gently. "I'll meet you at home," Hannah said, and left Peter.

* * *

Hannah disappeared into her room, and cried. Not because of her father's slap, not because of her father sleeping with Mia, but because that her father died in the future.

The fact that she had to grow up through her later years without a father that she needed to find solace in visiting her father's grave, not seeing the actual person. She cried because he didn't die out of coincidence, out of bad timing, he died by his own mistake. His own error, the error he thought would make the world a better place, but actually made the world even shittier than it already was.

Someone knocked on the door, and it opened, revealing her mother. "Are you okay?" Claire asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Hannah lied.

Claire joined her and sat at the foot of her future daughter's bed. "I know that's a lie, Hannah," she said.

Hannah laughed. "What's wrong?" Claire asked. "Is it about what happened at the warehouse? With Peter?"

"No, no," Hannah shook her head. "I was just thinking about my father."

At those words, she was up to boiling point already. She never really did like to talk about her father. She didn't like to talk about the fact that he died, that he might as well have left them for another woman.

If that happened, at least the world still had a savior, and Hannah and Michael would still have their father. Claire saw the crease on Hannah's face and asked, "What did he do, Hannah?"

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked.

"I mean, it's like you're never 100 happy whenever Peter's around. He did something, did he?" Claire looked straight at Hannah. The future prodigy nodded.

"I see the way you look at Peter. What did he do that you can't bring yourself to forgive him?" Claire asked.

Hannah looked down, and answered, "He died."

"You can't possibly blame him for that! Dying wasn't his fault!" Claire said.

"Yes, it was!" Hannah yelled, still looking down.

"What do you mean, Hannah?" her mother asked.

Hannah crawled out of bed, and stood up, looking angry. "The day after he died, we got a letter," she explained. "He _planned_ it, Mom!"

It was the first time Hannah called Claire 'Mom', and the young blonde felt a strange awkwardness wash over her.

"He planned his death; he set himself as bait for Sylar! He thought it would be better!" Hannah yelled. "But after his death, everything got worse. Sylar didn't give up. Everything became worse, and we had to suffer it!"

Hannah dropped to her knees, faced her mother and cried. "This was his selfish mistake," she said in between tears. Claire got down, and held Hannah's face in her hands.

Playing the parts of friend and future mother, the blonde beauty wrapped her arms around Hannah.

* * *

By the time Peter got home, lights were already dimmed. Any sign of anyone awake wasn't evident. The kitchen, however, was lighted and he saw a silhouette sitting down.

"Hey," he said to Mia. She turned around, her black whipping, her hand on her chest.

"Peter! You scared the shit out of me!" she said. Peter laughed and sat next to her.

"Why are you up this late?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? My normal bedtime is in two hours," Mia smiled. "I just like being the only one awake. Makes you think about things that happened through the day."

"Same here," Peter smiled. "A lot to think about today."

"I bet," Mia said.

"I mean, we played a little, in Evan's words, X-Men today, thought about Claire and I might've caused some domestic violence," Peter said.

"That wasn't your fault," Mia said. "It was an accident."

Peter looked up to Mia, seeing her blue eyes and fully appreciated them now. The way it sort of bended light and defied any science of color by it, and the beautiful lashes that surrounded it.

"Why is it that sometimes you're the only friend I have?" Peter asked. Mia shrugged and merely smiled.

His hands guided themselves to her face, and his fingers brushed her cheek. Mia almost looked away from Peter's stare.

"Don't," Peter whispered, and kissed her. This time, he didn't think about Claire, not until Mia brought it up.

"Peter…" she said. Mia pulled away, and asked, "What about Claire? Don't make this mistake again." _As much as I want this mistake, _Mia thought.

Peter shut her up with another kiss and this time, she gave in.

* * *

A/N: I know, dejavu, right? But, don't worry, Mia is does somewhat ship Paire deep inside of her. The two new members will be revealed in the next chapter

-Aly


	7. Sacred Steps

A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys!! Not a very well-written chapter, sorry!

My best friend wanted to make a point that my readers were Heroes fanatics, so I excluded the name of the mysterious blonde woman so that you guys could guess. Not very hard, since I already pointed out everything.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"**Sacred Steps"**

**Hope when there is none. Pray when faith has left. These are the only weapons at your arsenal as the world comes crashing down. **

_Somewhere in Russia_

No one heard the fast whoosh streaking through their courtyards of nothingness. No one saw the blinding light trekking through the thick, Russian snow. Those who did just shrugged it off and went back to their morning coffee or their lazy newsletter sitting on the couch.

No one would ever imagine that that blinding light was not a miracle, not a sign from God, merely a blonde woman zooming through the scenery. It was a space filled with stars and skies, and snow that covered the grounds. But the woman knew better: she knew this was just a mirage.

It was merely an illusion that played tricks with her eyes, and she knew that beyond the seemingly endless snow was her destination. She zoomed right into a mountain, and saw said mountain disappear behind her like smoke. The young woman chuckled as she saw a big white building.

It fit right into the snow; so much so, the woman was sometimes confused where the door was. But she learned over the months. She stopped her running, and her appearance became more evident. Straight blonde hair cut into a sharp bob, sweet, delicate features on her face and she was wearing a coat for warmth.

She opened the door. Inside, light bounced off the marble floors and the white walls that covered the building. Every inch of the space was white, and it looked like an infirmary. Some of the men that walked through the halls nodded a polite hello to the woman, to which she responded with an equally insensitive smile.

She passed numerous rooms, and numerous blank-stared men and women and she went to her room. Once she reached a hallway, she stopped. On her right were some more white, mysterious rooms ending at a white door that she knew opened to a more colorful place.

On her left, however, was an ominous-looking room. What made it ominous was the fact that it was the only black room in sight. The woman smiled and pressed a button to get inside.

Inside, it was much lighter, dimmed by a few lights on countertops. On tables sat a few nerdy men with white lab coats and vials and test tubes surrounding them.

"Miss!" one of them said to her. "I'm glad you could make it!"

He was a fortyish man, with a balding scalp and a bulging belly. Savage, that was his name. He wore glasses on top of his nose as he smiled.

"I heard you got something interesting," she smirked.

"I do, miss, I do," he said excitedly. He led her to one section of the room, only occupying a few test tubes.

"We did it, Miss," Savage said excitedly.

He was nudging to a few test tubes, with the name smudged with water. She could make out the 'RE' of the formula's name. The woman grew concerned. This was the formula he told her about, the effect it would make to the world was somewhat scary to think about.

"T-that's it?" she pointed to the test tube, her voice trembling.

"Yes, miss. Is everything alright?" Savage asked.

The woman let herself cool down in front of the eyes of this agent, and answered, "Yes, I'm fine. Now we can get Knox outta prison."

* * *

_Petrelli Mansion, NYC_

Who was he fuckin' kidding? Of course he thought about Claire: her subtle images kept popping once in a while in his head. He knew better; he knew that he didn't want to make this mistake.

Not again. Not only was he hurting himself, he was hurting Mia. Peter wanted to say that he realized this sooner, but, unfortunately, that record went to Mia. In fact, she slapped his face to do so.

"Whoa, mister," Mia said, pulling away. As he rubbed his face, he realized that he should've been grateful. As he cooled down, he gave Mia his signature lopsided grin and said, "Thanks."

"No problem. Just let me know when you're ready to talk about all of this," Mia said. She stood up and paced the kitchen floor.

"Talk about what exactly?" Peter asked. Mia gave him her serious look and said,

"You've gotta be shittin' me! There's helluva lot to talk about! About this thing between us, plus about Claire!" Peter looked away, his face still hurting but his main reason was for not looking Mia in the eyes.

"I don't need to talk about Claire," he said.

"Peter…" Mia said. "Yes, you do."

Peter looked back at her and saw that this wasn't the same Mia he kissed a few moments ago, or the Mia he slept with the night before. This Mia was broken, with threatening tears coming to her.

This Mia was much more vulnerable, and for some reason, this Mia reminded him of his Claire. His Claire he saved at Homecoming, the cheerleader that always needed to be saved, that always needed Peter by her side. The Claire he fell in love with.

"You know, I've been in love before, and have it's almost the same as your situation," Mia sat back down. "James was married to my sister. You might think fine, that wasn't really an obstacle like you and Claire. But he loved my sister; he made no move to leave her. So, he was family."

Peter looked at Mia. For the days he'd known her, he never thought of Mia actually having a family, a sister, a brother-in-law, a mom and dad. She was the kind of person he always thought would do fine on her own, would be happy without a strong rock to hold on to.

"It hurt me, Peter. Just like it's hurting you. But I couldn't take it. I kept running, running away from him. So I ultimately ran away from home," Mia continued. "But you, you can't run. She needs you, just as much as he didn't need me. I became different, I changed. Do not make the same mistakes. Stay." The last word was said with desperation on Mia's case.

Once again, Peter looked away from the raven-haired beauty and said, "I'm in love with Claire."

He paused for a while, and continued, still looking away. "I'm in love with my niece. I want to change it, but I can't change the fact that I love her. I love her in a way no uncle should love his niece. But I can't help it. I smile every time I see her, my heart breaks every time she cries. I wanna punch every guy she's ever dated because I know she deserves better. I wanna…I wanna love her without being afraid of what Nathan would do, what the world would do,"

Peter finally looked up, "But I can't. Because I'm still afraid."

Mia surprised him with what she was about to do. Her hand was covering her face in a way a sensitive woman would at a crappy romantic movie. Mia removed her hand, and placed them on his cheek. She then brought him into her embrace.

* * *

_Sanders-Hawkins Residence, Las Vegas_

_The previous night_

"No, Peter, you are not dragging me son into this!" Niki yelled to her friend on the phone.

He called several moments before, and asked for Micah's help. He was asking Niki for her son's ability. And she thought Peter was the good guy. "You have his ability; can't you just file through that brain of yours to use it?" Niki asked.

"It doesn't work like that! Micah's ability is hard to access, it takes time," Peter explained. "Can't you just talk to him?"

"This is not about his preference. It's about his safety, Peter," Niki argued.

Niki pressed her hand on the kitchen counter, and sighed. She looked up, and realized she wasn't alone. Micah was standing there, in his sleeping clothes, with a tired-looking Molly by his side.

"I'll call you back, Pete," Niki said into the phone. She heard a 'Niki!' as she hung up.

"What's up, _Mom_?" Micah asked. "That was Peter, wasn't it? What did he want?"

Niki looked at her son, and answered, "He wanted to use your ability, Micah. And I said no."

"But, Mom!" Micah said, like a five-year-old boy asking for a toy he saw in the window. "He needs my help, and I am going to give it to him!"

"You're a just a teenager, Micah!" Niki argued.

Micah felt a tug on his arm by Molly, and turned back to see her shaking her head. The teenager glanced to his best friend then to his mother.

Micah then answered, "I'm helping them." He walked to the phone and proceeded to call the younger Petrelli. "Peter?"

* * *

Mia went to sleep, since it was already about 3 a.m. after they finished talking, where they agreed kissing and/or sex were off-limits. Peter, on the other hand, did not.

He couldn't, but, dear Lord, did he try. He tried, but ended up tossing and turning at which point he already wanted to give up. At each turn, at each strangle of his bed sheets, he thought of Claire. He thought that his feelings weren't secret anymore, Mia knew now.

In some ways, it was better; he finally had someone that could understand, someone that could talk to him, no judgment at all. On the other hand, now there was a bigger chance of Claire finding out.

Peter crawled out of bed, and walked downstairs. He could at least watch the miseries of others on TV while wallowing in his own. But, problem was, someone was already sprawled on the couch.

"Peter," Claire said. She was wearing nothing more than a white tank top and super short shorts, which made it harder for Peter to control himself.

Before, Peter didn't have the slightest dirty thoughts about his niece; they were mostly collections of how great he thought Claire was. Her smiles, her laughs, and her whole personality. But now, it seemed that Peter was developing less than innocent thoughts about his niece.

Claire sat up to make more room for Peter. They watched the TV silently for the next few minutes, both knowing the other wasn't really concentrating. It was Claire who broke the silence.

"Are we normal, Peter?" Claire asked.

It was an out-of-the-blue question, since what she really wanted to ask was, "Can I punch Mia right now?"

Peter looked at her, and just those eyes already made Claire weak. She didn't know how he did that, how he made her loose herself.

"Honestly? No. Not at all," Peter answered, to which Claire laughed.

"I know we're not normal, since I have the ability to re-grow my kidney, while you, well, you can do anything you want," Claire said. "But are _we _normal? With Hannah being our future daughter and all."

Peter was hoping this conversation would never ever come, but it was inevitable that it would.

"I think that Hannah was her parents' daughter, not ours. I mean, judging by what Hannah told us, her parents were really in love with each other, and that's not us," Peter said.

It was killing him to say those words, because, really, all he wanted to do was stay silent and kiss Claire as hardest as he could.

"Right," Claire answered, her voice trembling.

"Are we okay now?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, yeah, we're okay now," Claire smiled.

For two days now, she was hoping the whole Mia thing would blow off, because, as much as she wanted to hurt the woman, she also missed hanging out with Peter. The little things that made her heart miss a beat, the awkward jokes that made her laugh nonetheless, and feeling his skin against hers.

Peter gave her his crooked smile, and the two resumed back to the TV. Claire lied down, and put her legs on Peter's lap. Before, it used to be considered normal for the two, but now, Peter was biting down his biggest smile.

* * *

They stayed up all night, at when the clock strung 10, everyone was joining them. Hannah woke up first, wearing a big grin that told Peter that she was happy her parents were finally happy together.

She immediately forgot her rage towards her father and sat in front of them as they talked. Mia and Evan followed. Mia made a point to stay away from the happy family and just wallow away in the nearest corner.

Heidi and the boys came down, and saw the whole team just sitting there minding their own business, and decided not to bother them until it was time to go.

"Bye, Uncle Peter!" Monty said, as he followed his brother and mother out the door. Peter waved a goodbye to his nephew.

Someone knocked on the door, which made Peter think it was just Heidi and the boys forgetting something to school.

"I'll get it," Claire said, getting up. She did so, and by the look on her face, Peter figured it wasn't just Heidi and the boys.

Claire came back to the group with a chubby Japanese man with a skinnier one by his side. He was smiling to the group, and lifted his arms in his signature move: "Yataa!"

* * *

"Hiro, what are you doing here? I haven't seen you in over a year!" Claire said, sitting down opposite the dynamic duo.

"I just come back from the past," Hiro said.

How 'past'?" Peter asked.

"400 years ago," Hiro answered.

"Whoa," Evan said. Hiro blinked at the teenager, and Claire realized they hadn't been properly introduced.

"Hiro, this is Evan," she said, pointing to the waving brown-haired teenager, "Mia," to the raven-haired vixen, "and Hannah."

Hannah was smiling at the Japanese man, the one that taught her the way of the sword. Speaking of swords, Hannah saw that Hiro was carrying one. But it wasn't a normal sword, it was the Kensei.

"You have the Kensei!" Hannah said excitedly.

Hiro looked at her and asked, "You know Kensei Takezo?"

"Yeah, you used to talk about him a lot," Hannah smiled. Oops, Hannah thought.

"But I do not know you," Hiro said.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorta from the future," Hannah said guiltily.

"You from future?" Hiro asked, to which Hannah nodded. "B-but space-time continuum!"

* * *

A/N: I warned you this wasn't a well-written chap, but hope you guys will still review! Anyways, Adam IS gone, he will not make an appearance in this story, we clear? And yes, Micah will find something (ooo)..Feel free to ask any questions if confused.

-Aly


	8. The Saint Journeys I

**A/N: The battle chapter is coming soon...in Chapter Ten, so hold on, boys and girls!! Review replies!**

**angelnikki: **You are very sweet, thank you!! I'm glad you like the story.

**alleywayqueen: **I see we have a Hiphane shipper in our midst! But sadly, I cannot use your idea because I have my own plan for Daph. And if you haven't guessed already, the blonde woman from the last chap is Daphne, so you'll be seeing a lot of her from now on.

**faithfulwriter: **There might be something going on with Hannah and Evan, stay tuned!

**Realynn8: **I see that you really want Paire to find out about Michael...I'll see if I can incorporate it into the story.

Enjoy this chap!**

* * *

**

**Chapter Eight**

**"The Saint Journeys I"**

**It is but the hero who leaves his destiny behind. He fights for every blow, every first the enemy punches at him. We are all the victims, but we know, because we have prayed, that he will save us all. **

Hannah was somewhat anxious for the battle. Because, on one hand, it would be over after that, and she would go back to the future with no strings attached, but it also said that she didn't know what was going to happen at the battle. There were only two scenarios that would play out: Hannah getting out alive, or Hannah joining her brother in a higher place. She prayed it wasn't the latter.

There was also the fact that her parents weren't exactly getting together anytime soon. If she left, would the future be the same? Most probably, at this rate, she wouldn't exist anymore. All thanks to her parents stubbornness.

It was an ordinary day; she got out of bed, said goodbye to Heidi and the boys and was soon leaving for another warehouse practice. But something was different because today was only five days away from the battle, and she was questioning if they were ready for a major breakout like that. On the base, she knew everything: the exact time, the people involved, and the measures that needed to be taken. But she didn't know her own limits, her endurance.

Most of Hannah's fighting skills were practiced, in training with her mother and Evan, and her present father. But did she really know what it would be like in actual battle? Sure, she fought a few fights with Michael, but this was probably her first big mission. She knew it would be the same for everyone else.

Hiro had saved the world, sure, but did he know his way in battle? Peter was the most powerful, but did he know how to control his numerous abilities? But who Hannah worried about the most was her mother; her worried face made Hannah worried as well. No doubt she was the youngest in their group, with probably close-to-none experience of fighting.

They were in the warehouse, and Peter was supervising both Evan and Mia at the same time. Claire sat down on the floor, exhaling from exhaustion with her practice with Hiro.

She watched as Hiro tried to contribute Ando to the practice, teaching him how to use his precious Kensei katana. It was somewhat amusing to watch, as Hiro kept screaming out in Japanese that Claire didn't doubt meant, "No, Ando! Don't…Ahh!" because that was what it sounded like. Hannah sat next to her on the floor, rubbing her dirty hands on her jeans and pulled her legs to her chest.

"I still can't believe it's five days away," Claire said. "Do you think we're ready?"

"We have Peter, and no way is he going to let Sylar walk, after what he's done," Hannah said.

"True," Claire smiled.

They paused for a moment, and watched the other five practice, until Claire broke the silence.

"I worry about you," she said. "I don't know, maybe it's the future motherly instinct kicking in."

Hannah chuckled and said, "No problem about that. Just wished Peter felt the same."

"He cares about you, I know he does. And Peter, well, he does everything he can for the ones he cares about," Claire said, putting her hand on Hannah's arm.

The future prodigy looked at Claire, and saw a tiny glint of her mother. The protectiveness, the love. She looked down, and asked Claire, "Then why doesn't he just tell you he loves you?" At that, the blonde was silent.

* * *

"Great practice, everyone!" Peter said as they started to leave.

Evan looked at the older man and asked, "What is this? Soccer?"

"Something like that," Peter smiled, "But our idea of Homecoming game is much more dangerous."

Just at the word 'Homecoming', Peter felt tiny shivers reveling through his body. Evan left, with Hiro and Ando, discussing, surprise!, comic books. Hannah went out the door, with Claire by her side. But the blonde turned around and gave Peter an awkward smile.

"You and Claire are better," Mia said.

"Yeah, yeah, we are," Peter smiled, as they walked towards the door.

"I just gotta ask, as a friend, exactly _when_ are you going to tell her?" Mia cocked her head sideways to look at Peter.

"I don't know if I can," he answered.

"You're not still on that 'I'm afraid' crap, are you?" Mia asked, to Peter's little laugh.

"Actually, I still am," Peter said.

Mia felt a little awkward discussing it, despite the fact it was her idea for Peter to 'confide' in her. Mostly because, what was the point of their talks if Peter never listened to her advice about Claire? So she changed the subject. She cast a smirk, and Peter saw it.

"What?" he asked.

"Let's race," she said.

But she was already gone, blowing wind into his face. Peter laughed and sped up to her. Mia looked at him sideways amidst their super-speed running, smiled and managed to make her body move even faster. Within moments, she was in front of the Petrelli Mansion, and almost out of breath. She collided her back with the hard wall and exhaled. Peter joined her in a few seconds, taking breaths.

"That was great," Peter said. "Almost as great as flying."

"Almost?" Mia asked. "Super speed can blow the shorts off any flyer. Besides, we can walk on water."

"You're a great friend, you know that?" Peter smiled at her.

Mia lost her smile, and planted her hand on his shoulder, "Then why don't you just follow my advice and tell her already?"

* * *

_Sanders-Hawkins Residence, Las Vegas_

Peter explained to Micah that all he needed to do was hack into Company surveillance to find anything out of the ordinary, villain-related or not. "But preferably villain-related," Peter had said.

It became normal for Micah to come home from school, finish what little homework he had left, and go to computer to be a guard dog. Molly didn't seem to mind, she was happy enough sitting by his side as he hacked through numerous firewalls and saw more than a few videos of surveillance. But, then again, girls were confusing: who knew what she was really feeling?

For two years now, Molly and Micah had been spending more time together than they did with their families. They would sometimes chat online for hours, but the current trend for the two teenagers were talking on the phone. Each had their own cell phones, after begging to their guardians for one, and as their phone bills came by the end of the month, the most prominent number was the other's.

Through these interactions, they didn't just get to know each other more, but also their families. Micah and Mohinder found common ground with science, Micah being the young prodigy and Mohinder the scientist.

Niki found Molly adorable, and DL was quite fond of the teenage girl. But one thing stayed common: each guardian asked their child when they were going to get together with the other.

"What do you have today?" Molly asked, taking her customary seat next to him in the seat.

"Nothing much, but I found pictures of Sylar's victims," Micah said.

"Pass," Molly said. Her companion laughed, and asked for a piece of chocolate Molly was holding.

"You need a break," Molly said, as she passed him a piece. "No one can be Hackers for Hire 24/7." Micah was reluctant, but stopped nonetheless.

He glanced at Molly, and appreciated how truly pretty she was. Her brown hair was sitting on her shoulders, but he liked it better when it was in a ponytail. That way, more of Molly's face was seen instead of just hidden behind her hair.

"What?" Molly asked, catching him staring.

The boy shrugged and sank into his seat, "Nothing." Molly looked down, and then looked up again, serious.

"Now I get to ask what," Micah said.

The teenage girl leaned closer to the boy, and finally, planted a soft kiss on his lips. Her first kiss. She pulled away, smiled and said, "That's what."

* * *

In her room, Claire was still thinking about Hannah's words at the warehouse. No, no, Peter didn't love her. Hannah was just hoping it was so because that would mean that her future was still okay, full of joyous parents.

But what if Peter did love her? What if Peter didn't just love her because she was family? Would she be okay with that? Did she even love him back if that happened? She needed to sort everything out, starting with the inevitable question of, "Am I or am I not in love with my uncle?"

Images flashed into the teenager's mind: of the memory of his body colliding with hers on Homecoming, of him actually jumping off a building to save her. The two years that they spent together as family were total bliss, because, no matter what, Peter was always there.

Through bad grades, bad break-ups, Peter was always there. The same could be said for now. If she decided to jump out her window right then, she knew Peter would be there to catch her. Literally.

Before she knew it, Claire Bennet was tearing up. Someone knocked on the door.

"Cheerleader Claire?" they asked. It was Hiro.

She quickly dried her tears on her sleeve and opened the door.

"Dinner is ready," Hiro said, smiling. Claire tried as hard as she could to conceal the fact she had been crying, but Hiro caught it.

"Are you crying, Cheerleader Claire?" he asked.

Claire walked to her bed and answered, "No, and you don't need to call me Cheerleader Claire, Hiro. Claire is just fine."

"But you are special. And special girls need special nickname," Hiro smiled.

The teenager laughed as the Japanese took a seat next to her. "Why you crying?' Hiro asked.

"Peter," Claire answered. Why was she telling him this?

"Petrelli-san love Cheerleader Claire," Hiro said, putting his fingers together to form a heart shape.

"He can't," Claire said.

"I fell in love in the past. She was 400 years older than me," Hiro said, and Claire laughed.

"What exactly are you saying, Hiro?" The Japanese man answered, "Petrelli-san love Cheerleader Claire."

* * *

Two days passed and Micah was getting worried. Peter was counting on him to find at least one bit of information that could lead them to the villain's plans after the breakout. The teenage boy wanted to suggest using Hannah as a guide, but Peter assured him Hannah told them everything she knew.

"You need to relax," Molly said, sitting next to her new found boyfriend.

"I've got three days left, Mol, how can I possibly relax?" Micah asked.

"Look, maybe they're not gonna get out. You heard how determined Peter was," Molly said.

"The word 'maybe' is not making things any easier," Micah said.

"Hey, look at me," Molly placed a strong hand on her boyfriend's shoulder, and he looked her straight in the eye.

"We are going to win, okay? On Peter's behalf, or on yours," she said. "Even if you don't find anything, we both know Peter is going to kick every ass in that Level 5 cell."

Micah laughed and said, "Thanks."

"No problem," Molly sank back into her seat, but her companion was still looking at her.

"What?" she asked.

"I really wanna kiss you right now. Can I?" he asked.

Replaying it back, he realized how stupid that sounded, but the brown-haired girl obliged nonetheless. They pulled away, and Micah went back to his job, but not really concentrating. Until he found something.

"Hey, Mol, look at this," Micah pointed his girlfriend to the screen.

"Is-is that Sylar?" Molly's voice trembled. "When is this?"

"A day before Kirby Plaza," Micah answered.

"Why is this so important? I mean, he's basically doing nothing," Molly said.

"Why would Sylar just be doing nothing a day before the explosion? That has got to mean something," Micah said. "The place, this has got to mean something."

"Wait, who's that?" Molly pointed to the screen, to a 40 something woman.

"Wait, I know her," Micah scrambled through his computer files. "Peter sent me this picture. It's her, isn't it?"

"Looks like it," Molly said. Micah's fingers inched towards the phone.

"Do you think this is worth a call?" Molly asked.

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?" Micah smiled weakly to his girlfriend. "Hey, Hannah?" he asked into the phone. "Yeah, I found something."

* * *

A/N: OOO!! Hope guys like it!

-Aly


	9. The Saint Journeys II

**A/N: This chapter is longer than my other ones because there was so much to fit into this chapter, but I hope you'll review. I seriously hope I get a lot of reviews for this one...You'll see why...Review replies!**

**knp10: Thanks a lot! I have an addicted groupie! And about Molly and Micah, I wanted at least one less phsychotic couple early on. LOL**

**Realynn8: You aren't too pushy, promise. I try to put reader's requests, that's all. I'll try if I can squeeze Michael in.**

**alleywayqueen: I will put some Hiro/Daphne in the battle chapter...so stay tuned!**

Enjoy this chapter!!

**Chapter Nine**

"**The Saint Journeys II"**

**Hope when there is none. Pray when there is one. Fight for your life, as it crashing in front of your eyes. Save her, make her proud for her life. **

Hannah managed to get everyone downstairs to listen to Micah's news. Which wasn't really easy since it was nighttime, and everyone, especially Evan, was tired. Mia looked groggy in her sleeping attire, which just counted as more decent lingerie; Hiro and Ando were rubbing their eyes out of deprived sleep.

"This better be good, Micah," Evan said sternly into the speaker, where both the boy genius and his girlfriend, the human GPS system were listening.

"I'm sending you guys a video," Micah said, tapping on keyboards, and did so. Hannah sat down in front of the Petrelli computer and saw a video pop up at the side. She clicked on it, and pressed play.

"Is it playing?" Micah asked on the other line.

"Yeah, yeah, it's playing," Hannah answered.

It was clearly an amateur video, taken by, no doubt, a Company agent doing his rounds. In it, Sylar was standing, hands in his pockets, back to the camera in front of a normal-looking school.

"Brain-Man!" Hiro said to Ando, but everyone else knew to ignore him. Besides, they'd ignored the numerous 'Exploding Man' and 'Flying Man' comments before.

"Where is this?" Hannah asked Micah.

"Downtown New York, Preston Elementary School," Micah answered.

"What did the Company have on this? They obviously went into mission after this," Hannah said.

"Surprisingly, nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary," Micah said.

"Then why show it to us? The Company would've searched every nook and cranny about the place," Evan said.

"Because all the Company knows how to use are their guns and bullets," Micah said. Out of nowhere, came a woman, dressed in a crisp, black suit.

"Who is that?" Peter asked. Half her face was concealed, while the other half was seen as she turned to Sylar. "She looks familiar," Peter said.

"Micah said he had the dossiers you sent him. One of them matched," a voice of a teenage girl came up.

"Which is?" Peter asked.

"Christensen. Her name's Natasha Christensen. She went into Level 5 just hours before Sylar did," Molly answered.

"They must be planning something there. We need to know what," Peter said.

"But why the school? Why hide anything there? Why harm the children?" Claire asked worriedly.

"They wouldn't harm the children. Natasha's a mother, and she wouldn't let that happen," Hannah said.

She saw the perplexed expressions on the crowd's face, and explained. She paused the video, and zoomed in on the back of Natasha's neck. On it, there were two pairs of initials.

"See? These are her children's initials," Hannah explained. "My guess is that the school is for safekeeping something. When the time is right, they'll move it someplace else."

"That still doesn't explain why the school? What's the significance of it?" Claire asked, to no one in particular.

"I told you, it's totally clean. It's been a school for 15 years," Micah answered.

"15 years? What about before that? Before it was a school?" Claire rambled.

"Claire, that's genius!" the boy genius said, as the team heard nothing more than tapping keyboards.

"OK, before it was a school, it was a memorial hospital. Apparently it was a big deal since most of the people didn't want it to be torn down. There was a whole petition and everything," Micah said, seeing flashes of old newspaper cutouts.

"But they eventually decided on the school, once the name was changed. It was supposed to be Richards Elementary, now it's Preston."

"Which would make the hospital Preston Memorial, right?" Peter asked.

"Yeah…why?" Micah asked.

"Uh, nothing. It's just, I was born there, that's all," Peter said.

"Huh," Evan said. "Weird."

"Hey, Micah? Listen; call if you find something else, okay?" Hannah said, and hung up the phone.

* * *

The next practice was somewhat morbid. The big battle was tomorrow, and everyone felt it. It was inevitable. Evan tried to hide it underneath his jokes of sarcasm, Hannah tried to cover it with her non-stop fighting, and Claire wasn't strong enough to hide her worry.

Hiro was still the same happy-go-lucky Japanese man he always was, and his optimism somewhat rubbed off a little on the others. His best friend, however, did nothing but worry about the upcoming battle.

It was decided that the man would be equipped with a sword for the battle, with Hiro's consent, that is. "Ando has become most excellent student," he had said.

Peter was strong, but Claire knew, above all else, that underneath his strong face was the empath she grew to know and, uh, love.

Yes, she confessed it, she admitted to the fact that she sorta _might_ be in love with her totally hot uncle. Yeah, she admitted that her uncle was hot, too. But who didn't know that?

"Peter, are you okay?" Claire asked him once the team finished practice. He looked pale, and wore that pathetic fake smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter said.

"Come on, Peter. I know you. Something's wrong and I know it," Claire placed her fingers on his shoulder.

Something _was_ wrong, because Peter was just thinking less-than-innocent thoughts about his beautiful niece.

"I'm worried, that's all," Peter said. "I'm worried about you."

By that sentence alone, Claire swore if she could have a heart attack, she would.

"I never should've let you come with us. I mean, you had college to think about, friends, not saving the world with your uncle and future daughter," Peter said.

"Look, Peter, college was boring," Peter laughed at her comment. "Plus I kinda like part of a team. Especially if the team includes you. You have nothing to worry about. We both know I'm not going to get hurt when I'm with you."

Peter felt a burden heavy itself on his shoulders. What if she did get hurt on his watch? What if she died and it was his entire fault?

But she can't die, Peter thought. But that doesn't stop her from hurting, his conscience said. And then he said he was screwed. For the third time today.

* * *

"God, I'm so screwed," Hannah said, as she plopped herself on the living room couch. "How could Peter possibly think I can take down Natasha all by myself?"

They just finished being briefed by Peter about their future plan for the battle. Who was going after who, was the most prominent question.

"We're going in to take down everyone. But two things are for sure: Hannah will be going after Natasha, and I'll be taking Sylar. That bastard needs to pay for what he did." Hannah was surprised at her father's cursing, but, then again, Sylar had always been a special case.

"What I'm worried about the most is that we have to stay in a crappy motel just off the road of Crapville," Evan said, sitting down opposite her.

Peter had also told them they had to move somewhere closer to the Level 5 facility, so that the Petrelli family would be safe, and they would be closer.

Hannah gave him a deadly glare that she apparently inherited from Nathan because it sent Evan a flashback of when Nathan caught him throwing plasma blasts. "No one said it was going to be crappy," Hannah said.

"Yeah right it's not going to be," Evan said. "And, about Natasha..." Hannah looked up to Evan.

"Peter signed you up for this because he knows you can do it. He knows you're ready," Evan said. "I mean, look at how your practicing. For all I know, you could take down everyone just by that."

"Evan…" Hannah said.

"I'm serious here, Hannie. Besides, Biological Weaponry VS Natasha's dumb-ass abilities? You're a shoe in to win," Evan smiled.

"Thanks," Hannah said, and, for some reason, she could feel her cheeks getting hot. Was she _blushing_?

* * *

"Why do you have to go, Uncle Peter?" Monty said. Peter looked up to Nathan, who knew full well what the plan was.

"I told you, I'm going to vacation with some of my friends," Peter lied. "But I promise I'll be here for you birthday, okay?"

Claire remembered: her half-brother's birthday was coming in a month, and Peter promised an awesome party for him. Peter and Claire were already packed; the others just had knapsacks with what little belongings they had.

"Bye, Claire," Nathan said to his illegitimate daughter.

"Not very good at goodbyes are we?" Claire laughed, as she gave her father an embrace.

"I don't tell you this nearly enough, but I love you, Claire," Nathan said.

"Love you, Nathan. And don't worry, we'll be back. You're not getting rid of us that easily," Claire laughed.

She then gave each of her brothers and Heidi a hug. She was glad Angela couldn't make it, what a party she would make. The gang of seven heroes back away from the happy, Petrelli family.

"Hiro, you take Ando, Evan and Mia. I'll take Claire and Hannah," Peter said.

Before Claire knew it, Peter's hand was located on her hip, making her lose her breath, while the other was placed appropriately on Hannah's shoulder.

The Petrelli mansion, and their occupants, disappeared before Claire's eyes, and they were now in front of a motel off the street.

"Ladies and gentleman welcome to Crapville," Evan said.

* * *

Even though it was a motel, they had little available rooms. Hiro and Ando settled in a two-bed room, Evan, Mia and Hannah would share a room, and that would leave Peter and Claire in the one-bed room.

_Great_, Peter thought, _just what I need. To sleep in the same bed with my niece who I'm in love with. Maybe I can sleep on the floor_. But when the two entered the room, that option fell out the window.

It seemed that the only clean surface in the small room was the bed, since the floor was filled with living rodents and God knew what else.

"We have to share," Claire said. Inside her mind, she was smiling.

"Yeah. You don't mind, right?" Peter cocked his head sideways.

"No, no I don't mind," Claire said, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Why are you looking so worried? We're family, it's not like anything's gonna happen." She let out an awkward laugh.

"Yeah, no, I'm just worried about tomorrow night. Just thinking if I'm strong enough to take them down," Peter said, placing a seat next to her.

"Of course you can. You've practiced enough, you're powerful, and you've got a whole team behind you. Don't worry," Claire said, intertwining her fingers with his.

She was surprised how their hands felt so right together, each finger filling the space in between. But before she knew it, she felt Peter pull away from the contact.

"You should get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow," he said, making it up to her by giving her his crooked smile.

Claire stood up, and smiled back. She didn't really have any overnight clothes packed, just a tank top and shorts since she thought she'd be in her own room. Now, there was Peter.

"Hey, Peter, do you have any leftover shirts? I didn't really pack any sleeping clothes," Claire said, turning back to Peter.

"Yeah, there are some in my backpack over there," he said distractedly.

The blonde beauty changed in the bathroom into Peter's shirt. It felt so smooth against her bare skin, and it smelled like Peter. That was the most important thing.

She thought about wearing her shorts with it, since it only reached the mid of her thighs but she decided not to. All she wanted on her skin was a little bit of Peter. She walked out the door, and immediately saw Peter with his mouth agape.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Claire went to sleep first, and it was beautiful to see her sleep so peaceful, and wondered if he could do the same.

In less 24 hours, either he saved the world, or let all hell break loose. He couldn't sleep at first, but told himself to at least try to, even if it was next to his niece. He slept roughly around 2 in the morning, and when he woke up, he realized Claire was still asleep.

Another thing Peter realized was when he woke up, his hand was placed comfortably on her hip, and his chin was placed on her shoulder, breathing the scent of her. Of strawberries and everything wonderful. _Man, that sounded corny,_ Peter thought.

The contact between him and Claire almost sent Peter off the edge. He marveled at the fact how fitted they were together, as if it was destiny. That Fate had played games with them.

It was driving him crazy. He looked at the clock at the side table and realized it was already noon. He pulled away his arm from her body, and sat up. This wasn't right. Loving your niece wasn't right.

It wasn't just wrong, it wasn't just immoral; it was illegal. He knew that, he always knew that. But somehow, today, it was different. It was reality. But it was also driving Peter insane; it was slowly careening him off the edge to his death.

Peter knew, deep inside of him, that he had to tell her. He had to tell her. But not yet. Peter got out of the room, and paced a few steps downstairs, and saw that Mia and Hiro were the only ones awake.

"Good morning, Petrelli-san!" Hiro said cheerfully.

"Hey, Hiro," Peter smiled at the Japanese man. "Listen, can you leave me and Mia alone for a while? I need to talk to her." Hiro nodded, and walked upstairs no doubt to go check on his best friend.

"What's up?" Mia asked, leafing through the newspaper that dated back God knows when.

"Can you look at me? I have something important to tell you," Peter said.

"Eager, are we?" Mia smiled as she put down the outdated newspaper.

"I have to tell her," Peter said, no more than just a whisper for the two of them to hear.

"Tell who what?" Mia said, blurrily. Peter sighed, and made his sentence more specific.

"I'm going to tell Claire I love her," he said. Mia grinned ecstatically.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm still afraid, and everything, but we'll be fighting tonight, and I at least owe her the truth if I die," Peter looked down. "At least she'll know how I feel."

"What if you don't die? What if you don't die and she loves you, too?' Mia asked.

"We'll see where destiny stands with us," Peter said.

"When?" Mia asked.

"Right before we leave. It'll leave me enough time to get things straight, which is about 6 to 7 hours," Peter said.

"Do you have a speech prepared?" Mia asked.

"Speech? God, Mia, I'm not proposing!" Peter laughed.

"But, seriously, what are you going to tell her?" she asked.

"I just want everything to go out in the open. I wanna tell her I love her, that being with her is the closest to heaven I'll ever get," Peter said, and saw that Mia was smiling more than she was. "What?" he asked.

"I'm just saying," Mia said, "If she doesn't love you already, she will."

* * *

The battle was dawning closer and closer. It was laying itself upon them, it was coming. Their makeshift sanctuary was coming to a close, their two weeks of freedom, of preparing for this one act was nearing its last hours. Its last minutes.

Hannah was scared, she finally admitted it. No one was willing enough to comfort her, to see the torn expression on her face. Just in that one moment, she wished she had Michael.

She wished she had her older brother, to comfort her, to tell her everything was going to end up fine, that she was not going to die, that she was going to make him proud. But all Hannah had were her prayers, and she wished that was enough.

Mia prayed, too. It wasn't a regular activity for her, but she at least had to try. So she kneeled, and put her hands together.

"Dear God, may we all make through this battle alive. May I come out of this experience with something I never really had: family. I pray that this apocalypse, this battle, will bring some good to us," she said.

She realized her prayer was somewhat self-centered so she tried again. "I pray that the battle's results will save the world, save the innocent people that don't have anyone on their side but God. And, one more thing, I pray that you finally put Peter and Claire together. They've been through enough."

She then put her fingers on her forehead, her chest and each of her shoulders in a cross: "Amen."

Hiro and Ando sat quietly in their corner downstairs, while Evan did the same. The teenager was actually beginning to get nerves. He was either going to die, or not. This nervousness was seen, not so cleverly hidden like his past concerns, by Hannah.

"You're afraid," she said, a statement.

"What if I am, Hannie? It'll make me more human," Evan said.

"I just want to tell you before we leave," Hannah said, "you, _we_, are not going to die."

* * *

The clock was ticking. Peter had ignored this moment for so long, he couldn't anymore. He knew they had to leave in a few minutes. They were headed into battlefield very, very soon. And everyone was counting on him to do the same.

So he had to tell her, he had to do it. Not only for Claire, but for his own dignity. Peter knocked on the door: "Claire?"

The door opened, revealing the blonde beauty that took his breath away. "Hey, Peter," Claire smiled. "Come in."

Peter stepped inside, and saw that her clothes were all packed, even though they weren't planning on coming back for them. "Claire, before we go, I, uh, need to tell you something," Peter said nervously.

"Okay," Claire said, sitting down on her makeshift bed. "Sit down."

Peter did so, and found that he couldn't look Claire in the eyes.

"What's up?" Claire asked.

Peter looked in her eyes, those mesmerizing eyes that caught him speechless every time. He couldn't, he couldn't. He couldn't do this. As much he was in love with her, he couldn't bear to lose her. He couldn't bear to lose her, as family, as a friend.

"You know what? Nothing. Just checking if you were ready," Peter smiled at her.

"Uh, okay. I'll meet you downstairs when I'm done, then," Claire said. He walked out the door, leaving her alone.

That was odd, Claire thought. She stood up, and turned her back to the door. But said door opened once again, revealing the empath that closed it before.

"Peter, something wrong?" Claire asked. "Yes, Claire, there's something wrong," Peter said.

Before she knew it, Peter cupped her face and crushed his lips against hers. It was unbelievable. It was unbelievably perfect, like it came out of a dream, one of her very, very wrong dreams. But, right then, she didn't care.

Claire was sure that Peter was taken aback when she responded his kiss, and wrapped her hands around his neck. "Peter," she said, as he pulled away for one second. She could see him smiling.

Peter picked her up, and slammed her against the wall, kissing her more fiercely. His shirt came off as quickly as it started. His lips against hers were too much to handle, and his free hands roaming every nook and cranny of her body left her breath hitched.

"Yo, Peter!" someone called his name. Evan. Good Lord, did that boy have bad timing. "Time to go!"

"I'll be right there!" Peter called back.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor, while Claire tried to put herself together. She just made out with her hero, her uncle. But she didn't care about that last part. Peter put his shirt back on and opened the door.

"Coming?" he asked Claire, taking her by the arm.

"Yeah," Claire answered, giving him a kiss on his lips.

* * *

Peter felt no remorse. Either he really didn't care or he was too nervous to give a damn what Nathan would think about his brother kissing his daughter.

Because, right then, the last piece of the puzzle was put together. If he really was going to die, at least he did the one thing he needed to do before he did.

"Hiro, you know who to take. You know where to go, right?" Peter asked the Japanese man.

"Yes, Peter," Hiro said. Peter realized it was the first time he called him by his first name.

"Oh, and Hiro," Peter said, and walked away from Claire to give the Japanese man a hug. "Good luck," he said, as he patted the other man on the back.

"Now, where's Hannah?" Peter asked.

"In her room," Evan said.

"Go call her," Peter said.

"Wait, Peter," Claire said.

She pulled him into a corner, away from anyone's view, and gave him a subtle kiss. It wasn't like the one in the room; this one was loving, pure. "You're going to be fine," she said.

They came back, and Hannah and Evan were already downstairs. "Alright, gang," Peter said, putting his hands on Claire and Hannah. "Ready?"

"Ready," Claire said. Her voice was enough reassurance for Peter.

* * *

A/N: I will not be updating until next weekend because I have finals (wish me luck!) plus I wanna build up the suspense for the next chapter. *Smirks evilly* Remember: Review!!

-Aly


	10. The Battle of Lost Sins

**A/N: I know I'm terribly overdue, but I finished, and, man, it feels good to be finished. Review replies!**

**faithfulwriter: Thanks, Dani, glad you liked it. I meant to reply your message only i don't have the slightest idea how...**

**angelnikki: It's true that battles aren't really planned, but they have Hannah on their side, and don't forget: she's from the future!**

* * *

Chapter Ten

"**The Battle of Lost Sins"**

**There is only so much thee can pray for, only so much hope one must feel. But the players know, as much as their change has come, that the last chance is not taken with faith or hope, it is taken with bravery. **

Level 5 Facility

Daphne Millbrook

There was a time where Daphne thought she was on the right side, that she was doing the right thing by sticking by Knox and his utterly demented plan. But now, she doubted herself, she doubted Knox, the person who sheltered her, the man who was her friend.

She was beginning to doubt Knox was telling her the entire plan. Sometimes, she wondered if he ever told the truth at all. The blonde woman ran from her sheltered makeshift home straight to the Level 5 facility to get Knox out.

The halls of Level 5 were wide, the space dividing between cells. To her right, she saw Knox, in his straight jacket, the one he assured Daphne he didn't need.

"Daphne, you're here," the black man said.

"Get in, get it, and get you out, right?" she asked, putting the palm of her hand on the glass window.

"Right," Knox said.

"I'll be back," Daphne said, and ran, blowing wind in all directions.

Straight ahead was a door she proceeded to, that opened to big white hallway, similar to the one back in Russia, but this time, she didn't know her way around.

All she knew was there was going to be a button at the end of the hallway, the button that would let not only Knox, but eight others, escape.

Daphne Millbrook decided to screw her moral ambiguity, and ran through the hallway, where no one could be seen. She pressed the button.

* * *

"What was that?" a man with a heavy beard asked. Around him were five agents, two of them field agents, while the others were managing surveillance.

"Someone set off the alarm, sir," another man answered, this time a Hispanic man.

"Set off the alarm?" the first man, older than the second, asked. "Dear God. Karina, Cruz, follow me. You, Jules, call everyone we've got! There are villains escaping!"

"Villains, sir?" the second man, Jules, asked.

"You're new here, aren't you?" the older man asked. "If someone set off that alarm, the world will never be the same, you hear me?"

Jules's facial expression changed immediately, while his companion was calling the phones for field agents. Gael Cruz and his wife, Bianca Karina, followed the older man outside, with loaded guns. God knew they needed them.

* * *

Her father once told her that battles were always planned, no matter what. Some of his other comrades disagreed, the thought battles just happened: a natural reflex to seeing your enemies.

But Hannah knew, her father knew better than them. Her father knew more than them. Besides, it was he who fought for his life, not them. He told her than battles were always planned, because, either way, good guy or bad guy, they were waiting for the other to arrive.

"Why?" Hannah had asked, sitting on her father's lap. She was a shy girl of eight, too early to listen to her father's version of the Art of War, but she listened nonetheless.

"Because that's what heroes do, Hannie, they think ahead so that they can beat the villains," her father answered.

He then kissed her on the forehead and went out the door like any other day. Hannah realized right then why she had accepted Evan's nickname so easily. Her father had called her that, once, that one time, and it somehow brought her happiness to hear her once makeshift nickname said by a stranger.

"Ready?" Peter asked.

His hand found its way to her shoulder, while the other hand was on her mother's hip. Hannah knew the blonde had somewhat adjusted to her calling of 'Mom', but Hannah had the pleasure to give it a test run.

"Ready," Claire answered.

Before she knew it, she was thrown into oblivion, the sensation she remembered from her time-traveling from the future. God, she hated the feeling. It was as if someone was having fun rubbing a knife through her.

She had her eyes closed the entire time, but when she opened them, they were in a dark hallway. It was only surrounding by walls of cement, no villain in sight. But she saw there was an opening ahead, and Peter seemed to see the same thing.

He nudged the team to follow him to the opening. Hannah turned sideways, and saw Evan looking at her. He nodded to the future daughter, to which she replied back for reassurance. When they turned the corner, they were already too late.

They could see Sylar holding a Company agent against the wall, the signature telekinetic mark on her forehead was already there. The eight others followed his lead, as Flint lighted up to scare the remaining five agents.

Hannah stood by Peter's side, and watched the scene, from the nine villains, to the scared five agents and the now dead body on the floor. She had no words for it, the situation. But Mia did: "Oh my shit."

Sylar heard it, the super-ear super villain he was. The archenemy of Peter turned his head from his latest victims to see the team of seven on the opposite side.

"Peter, long time no see," Sylar said menacingly. The eight others turned, and saw what they saw: prey.

"You know what to do," Peter said to his team, and was replied with nervous nods.

In moments, everyone on both sides was ready to strike. Hannah's fingers had become solid missiles; Evan's hands were glowing with plasma blasts, Hiro and Ando drew their swords while Flint's hands were glowing, too, and was laughing at the crowd, as if they were not competition to him.

Hannah was caught off-guard by a bomb exploding, the first move from the opposite side. She knew better: it was coming from a demented woman called Landry; someone who Hannah immediately realized did not belong on Level 5, but instead, a whack shack.

Just by that exploding bomb, everyone was suddenly ready to strike. Landry's hands were filled with another bomb, ready to explode and disintegrate everything in its path. She was running towards the future daughter, and, just as she was ready to fire her missiles at the deranged woman, Ando stepped in.

Before Hannah's eyes, she saw the Japanese man commit his first murder, as he plunged his sword into the woman's gut. The woman looked up, gasped for air, and Ando watched as the woman fell to floor, drawing her last breath.

Their makeshift moment of peace was interrupted by a fire ball coming towards them. "Thought you were safe now, did you?" Flint asked, laughing.

On the other side of the room, Claire was facing her own devil. "Hello there," Knox said, in his torn straight jacket.

"I know how your power works!" Claire yelled amidst loud blasts and screaming. "You can't hurt me, because I'm not afraid of you!"

"Yeah, you are. You're scared of what I'm gonna do to your boyfriend over there," Knox nudged to the Peter fighting like hell.

Claire didn't have time to respond; Knox was too busy punching a hole right through her gut. The blonde looked down, and saw blood dripping from her gut to the floor. She gasped out, but within moments, she felt her skin sewing itself back together again.

Claire looked up, seeing Knox surprised as hell. She punched him in the face, and said, "Oh, it's on."

"We're not so different, Peter," Sylar said to his enemy.

"I wouldn't kill anyone innocent," Peter said. "Tell me how that makes us the same."

"I killed to take what others didn't deserve," Sylar said.

"What makes you the one who decides whether they deserve it or not?" Peter asked, his hands itching to get at Sylar.

"Because I'm special," Sylar answered, smirking.

"That's it," Peter said, his hands on the other's neck already.

"That the best you got?" Sylar managed to choke out.

"No, I'm leaving the best for last," Peter said, punching him from left to right.

He saw his enemy's blood drip from his face, and drew satisfaction from his pain. This was the man who tried to kill the woman he loved, he should be delirious he was taking control.

Peter got a good grip on Sylar's shirt, and pulled him up against the wall thanks to Niki Sanders's super strength. The empath let the serial killer go, letting him hang like that by telekinesis when he realized he couldn't just deal with Sylar, he had an army to kill.

But before that…Peter dropped Sylar to the ground, and punched him one more time. "That's for messing with my girl," Peter said.

* * *

The situation was more than deadly: it was deafening. Peter fought through the crowd, firing everything he had at the enemy's side, and saw that Hiro needed help. The Japanese man was being held back by a man Peter recognized as Geoffrey from Hannah's dossiers.

"Come on, Sulu. I'm sure you can do better than that," Geoffrey said, holding back Hiro's sword from his face. Hiro grunted, and pulled away.

"You," Peter said, and flung the man to the wall by telekinesis. "Don't mess with my team."

"Thank you, Petrelli-san," Hiro said, and bowed.

"No problem. Now where are the others?" Peter asked.

The moment was ruined by a whoosh of silent air. Peter recognized the sound; he heard it all the time during practice. It was the sound of a speedster. And since the only two speedsters Peter knew, him and Mia, were standing still, that would mean…

"Another Speedster," Peter said.

"What?" Hiro asked.

"Hiro, you remember our one practice? You stopped time and the only people that were moving were me, you and Mia?" Peter said.

"Yes," Hiro said.

"OK, I think there's another speedster around here. I need you to stop time and take her out, okay?" Peter said, moving away.

"Yes, Peter," Hiro said, crunching his face together.

The Japanese man succeeded: everyone was standing still, except for Mia. Peter had decided not to use his time powers for this one. "Why is everything still?" Mia asked.

"Petrelli-san thinks there is nother Speedster. I must," Hiro put his two fingers up as an air quote, "'take her out'."

"Okay, then," Mia said, smiling.

"How are you doing this?" Hiro heard a voice, and it wasn't Mia.

The Japanese man turned around to see a woman with straight blonde hair, dressed in crisp black, which told him she wasn't part of the Level 5 escapees. But he still knew she was helping them, and that would make her his 'nemesis.'

"I stop time," Hiro answered, composing himself in front of the speedster.

"Huh, interesting," she said. "So what? You're gonna kill me now?"

"Yes, I must," Hiro said, drawing his sword.

Could he? He's killed before, he's plunged his sword into someone before. Question now was if he could do it now. He couldn't. Instead, he tucked his sword back, and punched the other speedster to knock her out. With that, he blinked and found time resuming again.

"Hiro, did you do it?" Peter asked.

But his question was answered with the unconscious woman, with burgundy warmth running down her face. He failed. He was supposed to be the hero, and the hero killed every villain. Including ones that looked innocent.

* * *

Peter decided his team was good as it ever was, and resumed his attention to torturing Sylar. The serial killer was still lying on the ground, looking defenseless. But Peter knew that looks were deceiving.

Sylar stood up, blood and all, got a good grip on Peter and threw him against the wall. "I've been waiting to pry open that skull of yours," Sylar said, pointing a finger at Peter's skull.

Just like before, Sylar was beginning to mark a telekinetic knife on Peter's forehead. And, just like before, Peter screamed due to the immense pain. "All that power, all that delicious power, will be mine as soon as I-"

Peter cut him off by throwing the taller man through one of the glass windows. Peter stood up, composing himself. "Dejavu, huh?" he smiled, wiping the blood from his forehead.

Sylar stood up once again, and pulled Peter into the cell. The serial killer got a grip on Peter's neck, and had him against the wall, just as the other had done before.

"You think you're so special," Peter managed to choke out.

"It's true," Sylar said, and began punching his enemy.

He blew his fist on his face from left to right, making the other's jaw to crack a little, and blood to drip from his nose all the way to his neck. The enemy of the young Petrelli smiled at Peter's pain, just as Peter had done before, as he saw the blood from his nose drip into his mouth. _Let him taste his own pain_…Sylar thought.

Peter got away from Sylar's grip by giving the serial killer a dose of his own medicine. He was thrown against the opposite wall, as Peter got off the wall.

"It was too bad you came with such a handy power. It makes it easier for me to kill you," he said. Peter used his hands to pull Sylar off the floor, and, as soon, as he got a grip on Sylar's shirt, he began hitting him hard and rough.

In fact, he thought about using Hannah's weaponry to hurt him even more, but he doubted it would hurt more than Peter's revenge. But what he didn't expect was for Sylar to actually make a comeback.

His hands found Peter's neck, and Peter realized he was flirting with death. He got away from his deathly grip and tried to run, but Peter found a sharp tug on his shirt, which caused the shirt to tear off, and Claire's concentration be fazed.

She was watching from the outside, still battling Knox. As he recovered from her past punch, she looked at Peter, in his shirtless glory. Blood, sweat and hotness made Peter even more handsome, as demented as that was.

Claire realized she shouldn't be looking, but who could not? _What I wouldn't give to pounce him right now, _she thought. She soon paid for her distraction and Knox punched her, just like before. Shit.

The young Petrelli turned back and gave Sylar one more punch and yelled, "Don't you ever die?!" This punch was different. Due to it, Sylar got blood running down his face, and was knocked out. _Thank you, Niki!_

* * *

Natasha was a fighter; Hannah had to give her that. Every blow Hannah gave her, from her missiles to her gun fires, Natasha always found a way to block and evade them.

But she was growing weaker and weaker, her weapons growing less and less sophisticated, and Evan noticed. His own energy draining, he knew how she felt. But Evan refused to get down, just as Hannah was doing.

"Hannah, I'll take care of this," Evan could hear Peter say, out of nowhere.

Hannah looked at her father with a WTF? look. "Are you serious? You gave me her to take out, and what? You think I'm not strong enough? Because I am," Hannah said angrily, throwing another bullet at Natasha.

"I have no doubt about it, but I know you can't be strong forever," Peter said. "Listen, all I'm doing is protecting you! Why won't you let me? Why can't you trust me?"

"Because I can't," Hannah said.

"Why not?" Peter asked.

"Because you're going to disappoint me, just like you always do," Hannah said her voice lower.

A blast interrupted them, and it came from Natasha. Her hands were glowing now, no doubt with fire, because that was what she'd been playing with.

"Run," Peter said to Hannah.

"What?" she asked, incredulous.

"I said, run!" Peter said, pointing her to a corner to hide behind.

"Hell no," Hannah said, arms out ready to fight the demented woman in front of her.

Her hands turned into cold, hard metal, a perfect armor to protect herself, and take out the bitch. But she didn't have a chance to use them. Instead, she fell to floor of exhaustion.

"Hannie!" Evan yelled, stopping his monotonous plasma blasts to go to her side.

Peter watched as Evan held his daughter, the daughter he disappointed, up by the neck. The future daughter looked pale, her raven hair around her like a fallen halo.

"Keep fighting, Peter!" Evan said to the father of the unconscious girl he was holding.

"Come on, Hannie, I knew you were going to do this! Prove me wrong, dammit!" Evan said to the girl.

"I can't do anything," Hannah managed to say, each word separated with a breath. "I'm weak, you asshole."

Evan looked at her, and said, "Yeah, well, so am I!"

Peter did what Evan told him to, and took Natasha out, leaving her cold. He then crouched down to his daughter's side, stroking her raven hair. The hair she no doubt inherited from him, in fact, besides her green eyes, she was the female version of him. He didn't even get the chance to make her happy.

Before he knew it, the empath found his eyes welling up. Evan found himself stuck himself between a very awkward position.

"OK, Evan, I need you to run, okay?" Peter looked up at the teenage boy.

"Run? Where?" Evan asked.

"Into one of the cells. Use your blasts to get in okay, and run as far as you can from her. I'll find you with Molly's power, and we'll meet up somewhere, okay?" Peter said.

Evan nodded, and put his arms under the future daughter to carry her. He turned back and saw Peter's worried expression. "Don't worry, I'll take care of her," he said.

Peter got the biggest shock as Natasha crept up on him. "You really should give up already," she said, and burned him with her fire hands.

As normal, he recovered from every burn, every injury Natasha could throw at him, but not like normal, he kept feeling weaker and weaker.

"Listen to my advice, boy. Give up," Natasha said, as she saw the young Petrelli kneel to the floor from the pain.

"I'm not going to let you win," Peter looked up at her.

The next chain of events was blurred in his eyes. He saw Natasha wake away, laughing sinisterly, he could see every blackout, and he saw the slight image of what seemed like his angel, saving him in his time of pain.

Peter couldn't take it; whatever Natasha did to him was taking his toll. But the image of the angel stayed in his head: _Claire. _

* * *

"They left," Knox said to Natasha.

"Of course they did, why wouldn't they?" Natasha smiled at her accomplice. "Heroes always run when they sense a threat, Knox. I'm glad we sent the message."

She saw Sylar help Daphne up from the floor, both faces decorated with burgundy warmth from the opposite's attacks.

"Now, who do we have on our side?" Natasha asked Knox.

"Just us and Flint," Knox answered.

"Where is he?" Natasha asked.

"Taking our guests. Apparently they were clumsy enough to leave behind two of their comrades," Knox said.

"Good job, team," Natasha said to the group of four.

"Why good job? The rest of them are still out there," Daphne said.

"Because it's only a matter of time," Natasha said, and turned to her beloved son. "And you need to make sure of that, Gabriel."

"Of course, Mother," Sylar smiled at his biological mother.

"Good, then," Natasha smiled.

"Our ride should be here in a few," Knox said.

"And where is that taking us?" Daphne asked.

Sylar's mother looked at the blonde woman, smiled and answered, "Russia."

* * *

A/N: Hmmm...Can anyone guess who the two are?? I think it's pretty obvious...Read and review, people!!

-Aly


	11. Makeshift Sanctuary

**A/N: I didn't get much reviews on the battle chapter, so whoever is reading, and thinks about reviewing on this chapter...please! review on the battle chapter! Also, please see the A/N at the bottom. **

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"**Makeshift Sanctuary"**

**Everyone looks for sanctuary, a place to call home, a place to feel safe against the dark rules of the world. It is necessary for the race we call humans because it has given us the miracle of grace, of safety, but we all know it won't last forever. **

Sanders-Hawkins Residence, Las Vegas

For the third time today, Peter had the dream again. He closed his eyes, and he was immersed with the feeling of inevitable guilt.

_It was as if the world was going to end, despite the fact that they were in a tight-knitted building, with only two doors opening up to the whole humanity. It was blurred in his eyes, everything, but one thing stayed consistent: the strong grip on his shoulder held by Claire. _

"_Peter, I think it's time to go now," she said, worriedly._

_He couldn't talk, he could barely breathe, but one thing was for sure, he could think. And the one thing on his mind, it kept screaming and screaming out to escape his lips, was the name Hannah. _

"_Peter, we got to go," Claire kept saying._

"_Can't…" Peter managed to say. _

"_Yes, you can," Claire placed her hands on his face, looking at him. "I am counting on you. Please." _

She'll hate me,_ Peter kept thinking. _She already does. I can let her down. _Claire placed a subtle kiss on his lips, as Peter found another hand heavy itself on his shoulder: Hiro._

"_Peter, we must leave now," he said. _

_Could he? He looked back at Claire, who said, "I believe in you. You can do this." And he could, he closed his eyes, and saw nothing by darkness engulfing him. But he wasn't in the time for celebrating, because he just proved what Hannah had been saying all along: he had let her down, once again. _

_He let his daughter down, beyond all reason. He could only pray Evan kept his promise to protect her, so that he could see her again, tell her he never wanted to hurt her. He was still thinking, as he hit hard on Niki's floor. _

* * *

Secret Facility, Russia

Evan awoke with a pressure on his left shoulder. He turned sideways to see a sleeping Hannah, her head on his shoulder, still immersed in beautiful sleep. He let it slide, and observed his surroundings.

He immediately grew concerned. It was not a place he would want to be: it looked like an isolation cell, like the ones you saw in one of the cells of a mentally deranged person, with padded walls surrounding them.

Light bounced off every surface, as he realized there was no way out, no doors, just endless soft, white walls around them. Hannah's head moved slightly, as she slowly woke up. Her head moved off his shoulder, and looked around.

"I knew you always thought I was crazy," she said. Evan looked at her, smiling. "Where the hell are we?" she asked.

"You'd think I'd know," Evan answered.

"The last thing I remember is passing out, after that, it's blank," Hannah looked at him.

Evan stood up, looking down at the future daughter, and walked to the nearest wall. He put the palms of his hands on the padded walls, and concentrated.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hannah asked.

"Using my abilities to get us out, what does it look like I'm doing?" Evan looked at her.

The teenage boy closed his eyes once again and resumed his work. He could feel the palms of his hands getting hot, getting closer to busting him and Hannah out of here. But when he opened his eyes, he realized his hands weren't glowing with their normal blue blasts, they were empty.

"What the-?" he cursed.

"What's wrong?" Hannah got up to face Evan at eye level.

"I don't think I have my powers anymore," Evan answered.

"That's not possible," Hannah looked at him.

"Believe me, it's possible," Evan said.

Hannah tried to make a strong armor around her arm, out of cold metal, just like in the fight. But she couldn't. It took all of her to even try, and it wasn't even working.

"Shit," she cursed. "Shit shit shit."

Great, she was stuck in a fuckin' whack shack, with no powers, and the only one even listening to her was an asshole named Evan. Great.

* * *

Sylar never really had a friend, and it was somewhat a joy to finally belong to a team who actually needed him. Knox and Flint might've had their objections to the serial killer, but welcomed him nonetheless.

His mother, as psychotic as she was sometimes, was still his mother, even though she gave him up as a two year old. He forgave her, after she said it was the best for him at the time. He realized he wasn't so different from his mother anyway. Besides, weren't all great minds crazy and some point?

As a boy, little Gabriel Gray was shunned out, being labeled the geek who liked to play around with science equipment, but found peace in his own isolation. But somewhere deep inside of him, he was still looking for a kin to understand every high and low of his life.

Daphne did, a little. She had her arguments, saying he shouldn't have killed all those people, he shouldn't have, but she knew. She looked through him and saw behind the strong frame were just a few pieces of broken glass.

Daphne tried to make him stop killing, stop his so-called 'hunger' for power, but he told her countless time it was 'evolutionary imperative.' It had to be done, and he had to take what others didn't deserve.

The young Millbrook never liked talking about his past _victims_, instead concentrated on the good that she knew was deep down inside of him. He was sweet, she had to give him that, gave her pleasant dark jokes that were amusing to hear when she had a bad day, and he was, no doubt, a handsome man.

Daphne convinced him to smile once in a while, because, truthfully, she hadn't seen him smile unless there was an ulterior motive behind it, or another victim.

"You keep feeling guilty, Daph," Sylar crept up on her.

She was in the observation room, surrounded with cameras displaying every move every agent or prisoner was making. Both of them were still injured from the battle. Daphne still had a little tissue over her nose to stop her from bleeding, and, Sylar, well; he was injured in every way possible.

"And you don't expect me to be? Look at them, Sy, they're just kids," Daphne said, pointing to the middle screen showing Hannah and Evan in the isolation chamber.

"Sometimes I wonder why you're on this side. You have the heart of a hero," Sylar sat on one of the chairs.

"And I thought being on this team would change that," Daphne sighed, sitting opposite the serial killer.

"Why change sides? That's the million-dollar question, Daph," Sylar asked.

"Because I already lost everything I loved and fought for. What's there left to lose?" Daphne said, not looking at her friend's face, instead observing the cameras. The question rang in her head, long after Sylar left the room: _What's there left to lose? _

* * *

Sanders-Hawkins Residence, Las Vegas

Niki got the biggest shock as she woke up in the morning, with five injured heroes crashing on either the couch or the floor. Hiro and Ando took liberty in the hardwood floors, Peter had his sleep on DL's chair, his hand inches from Claire's, who sleeping on a bench, her head on the arm of DL's chair, while the pretty unknown hero slept on the family couch. Great, now she had seven people crashing at her home.

"Whoa," Micah said, seeing the new company in the living room. "Mom, did you have a sleepover without telling me?"

"Very funny, Micah. This is serious. How am I supposed to have seven people in the house?" Niki said, looking at her teenage son.

Micah shrugged to his mother's question, as she said, "I guess we'll worry about that when they wake up."

Micah sat down on his seat at the dining table, and smiled as his petite girlfriend got out of his room with sleepy eyes. She took a glance at the gang in the living room and shot Micah a worried look.

"Don't ask," he said. Niki looked at the two kids, shooting each other morning smiles.

"Wait, did you guys sleep in the same room?" she asked.

"Yeah," Micah said absent-mindedly, but then realized what he just said. "Don't worry, Mom, I slept on the mattress, she slept on the bed. _Nothing happened_."

Niki shrugged, and went back to preparing breakfast for the two teenagers. She heard a grunt from the living room, and saw that Peter was the first one waking up.

He got out the chair, and walked to the dining room where his company was. He looked horrible: pale in the face, unhealed scars, shirtless and blood worthy.

"Dude, you look like shit," Micah said, looking at the grown man.

"Language, Micah," Niki said, and his girlfriend laughed.

Niki walked towards her old friend, and surprised him by giving him a hug. "For what it's worth, Micah's right," Niki whispered into his ear, and Peter laughed.

They pulled apart, and Peter got his smile back. "What the hell happened to you, Peter?" Niki asked.

"Long story, Nik," Peter said, sitting down next to Micah. "We have the whole day," the teenager said.

* * *

Mohinder suggested a check-up on Peter and Hiro to see if they were fit enough to teleport to wherever Hannah and Evan were. Peter was a lost cause; he could barely walk without falling to the ground to Niki's help, and everyone was praying Hiro was strong enough. Unfortunately, neither was in shape to teleport.

"Their immune system was shot; it would take a few, two at the most, days for them to recover from their battles," Mohinder said to the gang.

"What if we just use normal transportation to get there?" Claire asked, arms crossed as Peter disappeared into his makeshift room in the Sanders-Hawkins home.

"It would take just as much time. Molly located them in Russia, and, even by plane, it would take a few days to arrive there. It'll be safer to use teleportation," Mohinder said.

"Russia? What the hell are they doing there?" Mia asked.

"Guesses are, it's all part of Natasha's master plan," Micah said, and waved his hands like a magician, making a fool of himself in front of his girlfriend.

Claire got her laugh back thanks to the boy genius, but Peter needed to, too. She hadn't seen him smile ever since before the battle, every smile he gave her was fake, and distant. Claire wanted to go to his room, comfort him, but just as she started to the door, Hiro stopped her.

"No, Cheerleader Claire. Peter needs his rest," he said, his hand on her shoulder. Claire nodded, but a part of her wanted to just go into the room, do nothing but lie in his arms.

* * *

Mia was worried. It was probably the first time in her life, but she admitted it. She was worried. Ever since he was a boy of fifteen, she'd been all he had.

They were each other's family, and they understood each other. Black sheep of the family, under-achievers, but Evan did have something over her: he was confident.

He was confident in everything he ever did, from breaking out people in a bank heist to cooking his first meal (pasta: bad). They hadn't had the most amazing four years together, but at least they spent those four years together.

"Mia, are you okay?" someone asked her. She turned to see the handsome Indian man looking down on her.

"Just worried, that's all," Mia said, putting her hands over her face.

"I don't think you have reason to be. From what you've told me about Evan and Hannah, they sound strong enough to face this by themselves," Mohinder said, sitting opposite her.

"Yeah. It's just that, I've been all he's got for the past four years," Mia said. "We're each other's family."

* * *

Claire watched as Peter slept soundly, without a snore to interrupt him. He looked beautiful, as cheesy as that was. Perfect skin that felt soft under her touch, lips she longed to kiss once again, and arms she wished were wrapped around her.

She disobeyed Hiro's comment, and crawled into bed with him, seeing him sleep softly. Their faces inches apart, closer to being the death of Claire. She already felt his breath laying on hers, a sudden tension that made her want him even more than ever.

Her fingers placed themselves on Peter's muscular shoulder, feeling every tension in their muscles. Their lips were merely inches apart, and Claire finally made a move to close the space between. She brushed her lips against his, and she thought it was better than heaven.

Within moments, she felt him kissing back, feeling that he wanted this, too, he wanted _her_. The thought itself sent Claire careening off the edge. Her hands lowered themselves to his naked torso, feeling his heated skin against her touch.

But they didn't stop there, they lingered at his jeans, playing, teasing him. His own hands guided him to her waist, covered by only a thin layer of one of Niki's t-shirts. Was this really happening?

"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth.

"We can't," Peter said, pulling away from Claire's kisses, but his hand still placed on her waist.

"You're right," Claire said, looking at him in the eyes. "We should wait until this is all over. We should wait until Hannah and Evan are back, and you're feeling better."

"No, I mean," Peter said. "I mean, we shouldn't do this. This, us." Claire backed away, and pulled Peter's hand away from her body, and stared, incredulous, at Peter.

"You're not serious, are you?" she asked.

"I am," Peter said.

Claire got off the bed, crossed her arms and said, "You're not fuckin' serious, are you? You kiss the living daylights of me, and it's the best thing that's ever happened to me, then you say we fuckin' can't?" She was in disbelief. "Get things straight, Peter!"

"How can I do that? How can I possibly do that when you're here?"

Peter got up, and gripped on her arms. "I can't get things straight because you being here is driving me crazy, you're making me lose it!"

"What's wrong with you, Peter?" Claire asked.

"You wanna know what's wrong with me? What's wrong with me is that I am completely and utterly in love. With you," Peter said. "I'm in love with my fuckin' niece, which should not be happening! Because you're my niece, and I should not love you beyond everything, but I do."

Claire looked at him, feelings mixed between anger, disbelief and a slight feeling of happiness. But the happiness only lasted a while; it was soon replaced with inevitable anger.

"Don't," she said.

"What? Don't say what? I love you? Because that's the truth, Claire," Peter said.

"No! The truth is you're still afraid! After everything, you are still afraid!" Claire said, giving him an enormous wake up call.

"I love you, too." She…she loved him? "But, please, don't say it. Don't say it until you aren't afraid anymore," she said. "I'm going out. Please, don't try to find me."

* * *

Secret Facility, Russia

Evan once again found solace in sleep. What was a man to do in an isolation cell anyway? It wasn't like Hannah was going to do anything with him.

When he woke up, a few hours later, and still sweating like a pig, he saw an unconventional sight. He saw Hannie crouched down, hands together and eyes closed.

She was praying. Her eyes snapped opened once again, seeing that her companion was staring. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing. What were you praying for?" Evan asked. Hannah sat up next to Evan and looked at him.

"A lot," she simply answered.

"Like?" Evan asked, looking at her.

"Like for us to get our powers back, for us to get out of here, for my parents to get together…" her voice faded.

"Why even pray for that? They're too stubborn to listen to anyone, even if it is God," Evan said.

"They were meant to be, Evan. You'd think God wouldn't interfere," Hannah said. Evan spotted the anger in her voice, and asked,

"Hannie, what's wrong?" She looked at him directly in the eye and said,

"If God interferes, I only have six days to live."

"What do you mean?" Evan asked.

"If my parents don't get together in those six days, this me, the me you see right here," Hannah said, "won't exist anymore."

* * *

**A/N: I am putting together a TFT Official Soundtrack...and I really need some songs for the two Discs and why not ask the opinion of the readers themselves? **

**Disc One will have character songs, general songs and couple theme songs. Disc Two will have events (battles...etc). You can submit your songs on your review, either this chapter or any chapter following. **

**The best will be put on the CD, coming out as soon as the last chapter is submitted.**

**-Aly**


	12. God's Signs

**A/N: I'm giving you guys an early chapter because I've been bored and will probably stay bored until my seven week break from school is over. And, yeah, this chapter is sucky. Review replies!**

**faithfulwriter: Thanks for the heads-up. I'll try to check and please point out any other mistakes...I'm listening to Copeland non-stop now thanks to you...**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"**God's Signs"**

**Change is inevitable in a human's life; it is part of why we are here. Change can bring good, can bring bad but one thing is for sure: it changes the bearer. It changes every mistake, every right-doing; it changes a person's life to what they were meant to be: the hero of the story, or the mere villain standing strong. **

Las Vegas

Claire Bennet had never seen so much sand in her entire life. The Nevada desert seemed to stretch until the high roads of heaven, and it was somewhat peaceful. The blonde beauty just sat there, on one of the deserted benches, and looked out into the horizon.

She didn't know how far she'd run from the house, but for now she didn't care. For now, it seemed she was the only one in existence, that Peter didn't matter anymore, no one mattered. It was a moment in her life where she felt completely and utterly serene, surrounded by nothing more than sand, wind and the tiny presence of God.

"I knew I'd find you here," someone said. Claire looked up, and saw Niki smiling down on her.

"Am I that predictable?" Claire asked, making room for Niki on the bench.

"No, it just seemed you just needed to run, and you seem a lot like me," Niki said.

"How come?" Claire asked.

"I used to run here, too," Niki said. "It's the perfect place, isn't it? It's perfect to be isolated from the world, and feeling like you're the only one who matters."

Claire was surprised; it was like Niki just read her mind, because the words she said were taken directly from her mind. "I just need to be alone for now," Claire said. "I don't feel like going back there."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Niki said, cocking her head sideways to the girl.

Claire didn't answer for a while, just stared out into the horizon, where the sun was blinding, and everything was calm. The teenager remembered a time where she was once normal, where the only thought she had was if her skirt matched her lip gloss, or whether or not she finished her math homework.

Now, here she was, sitting out her loneliness, in love with her uncle. Now, everything was a possibility, except a slight glint of normalcy. Nothing was ever going to be normal; she realized that a few years ago, but the reality was crashing down on her, hard as ever.

"I'm screwed," Claire said to Niki.

"What makes you say that?" Niki chuckled.

"I'm in love with Peter, I have a future daughter, I can re-grow my internal organs, that sort of makes me screwed, Nik," Claire said.

"Peter?" Niki said, and Claire nodded. "Does he love you, too?"

Claire sighed and answered, "I have no idea. He says he does, but he also says he can't. So, which brings us back to the topic of screwed. Am I ever going to get better?"

Niki looked at her, put her hand on the girl's shoulder and said, "The real question is if you want to get better. If you were given a chance to change who you are, to change who you fell in love with, would you?"

"No," Claire ultimately said.

* * *

Secret Facility, Russia

Evan was getting tired, he was getting sleepy, and he was getting, believe it or not, hungry. "Do we at least get isolation cell service?" he asked. Hannah looked at him, shooting deadly daggers with her eyes.

"All I'm saying is that we've been here for, how long now? And I'm getting hungry," Evan said. "A man can only last so long on mineral water, peas and baked beans."

Said food was all they were getting, as far as food went. It came phased through the door every few hours, but, Hannah realized, it wasn't good enough for Evan.

"Speaking of baked beans, was that you?" Hannah said, waving her hand over her face. Evan shrugged and laughed.

"You're shitty," Hannah said.

"No, I'm a man," Evan replied. "I'm a man who is still hungry."

"You're not serious, are you? We're stuck God knows where, with no powers, no resources, and you're worried about food?" Hannah asked.

"Fine, I'll back off," Evan said, raising his hands in defense.

Hannah sighed in gratitude, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She looked so serene, as if the world didn't matter right then, and as much as Evan was annoyed by her, he couldn't just ignore the fact she was beautiful.

Ivory eyelids covered those green eyes, covering them from the world, while her sweat-dampened hair was the darkest shade of black he could imagine. It made her look like a vampire, with the fair skin, and a black waterfall reaching to her back.

"Are you praying?" Evan asked.

"Yeah, well, I was," Hannah said. "You should do the same."

"I'll pass," Evan said. "That's what I don't get about you," her eyes snapped open. "If you don't believe in God, what do you believe in?"

"The people. Peter and Claire are going to get us out of here, I know it. The people are what I believe in, Hannie. They sometimes let you down, we know that, but the true people, the heroes, they're always going to be around," Evan said.

Hannah moved closer to him, looked him in the eye and said, "That actually makes sense. Not saying that I wanna drop my whole belief system just by that, but, yeah, it does make sense."

Right then, everything seemed perfect, eyes were paired with eyes, and nothing was ever this serene for him. Until…

"Good God, Evan," Hannah laughed, waving her hand over her face.

* * *

Las Vegas

Peter didn't want to talk to anyone; it was his own human nature to isolate himself. It was his own nature, but everyone saw it. And everyone tried to talk to him.

"Dude, you okay?" Micah asked over lunch.

Claire wasn't back yet, and Peter was getting worried. As much as he wanted to avoid her, he still needed to know if she was okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just fine," he answered the teenage boy.

"Do you need anything?" Molly asked.

He looked at the girl, the, in his opinion, epitome of innocence, of nativity. In some ways, he looked up to her, because she held on to what made her little Molly Walker all this time: a sense of innocence. He could only pray it would last forever.

"Yeah," Peter gave her a fake, pathetic smile, "pass the mashed potatoes?"

Molly did so, not only passing the potatoes, but a sympathetic smile as well. Everyone finished lunch, everyone resumed back to their normal routine, except for Molly.

The teenage girl stuck around after all the dishes were done, and hushed her boyfriend away, just to be alone with Peter. "I know you're not alright, Peter," she said. He looked at her, feeling her hand on his back.

"Yeah, I know I'm not alright, too," he replied.

"Then why do you keep lying to yourself?" Molly said, sounding well beyond her years of thirteen.

"It's easier to lie, Molly. It's a known fact, you're just too young to know that," Peter said, evading his eyes from her.

"Maybe, but I know that lies are only easy at first. It gets harder. Doesn't it?" Molly said.

"How do you know all of this, Mol?" Peter asked. "You're only thirteen."

"That doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two," Molly smiled.

Peter was out of place, he didn't know the rules of the world, even though he pretended he did. Weren't there times where he thought everything was going to fine? It was going to end up okay, for him. But, then, he had to go and listen to a Japanese man: "Save the cheerleader, save the world."

Then his destiny literally crashed into him, changing everything he ever planned, changing whatever he had back home. Truth was, Claire morphed his life to being the simple life, just doing whatever task a hero was supposed to do, to the hard kind.

The one where you only did everything to make it alive, to see the one person that mattered the most, and in this situation, for him, it was Claire. "You know what I miss, Mol?" Peter asked, out of the blue.

"What?" she asked.

"Normal times. I know, I've never actually been normal, but there was a time where I thought I was. When I was ten years old, I ran around the house with a cape on, I even tried jumping off my dad's desk. The idea of flying stuck with me. The idea of flying everywhere, just overlooking every city, every building imaginable," Peter said, with a dreamy look cast on his eyes.

"Every time I jumped off the desk, Nathan was always there to pick me up, and convince my dad that it was okay, I was still a kid, and I'd grow out of it. I never did."

The teenage girl watched as the man described his hopes and dreams to her, laying out the map of his world, and saw that he wasn't so different from her. She always wanted to be the hero, the one who saved everyone, but instead, someone saved her.

Matt saved her, and Claire had done the same for Peter. Now, both were stuck living their lives for their heroes. "What does that have to do with anything?" Molly asked.

"The thing is, Mol, Nathan has always been there to protect me, to pick me up whenever I fell, if I go after Claire, would that all change?" Peter asked.

Molly looked at him, the hero she always thought would be strong through every storm, and every journey God put him through. But she saw now, his weakness, his only weakness, was his family.

"You need to hope, Peter. If Nathan's the brother you grew up with, the one who picked you up, he'll be there for you. Through and through," Molly said. When she left, Peter was left thinking about her words: "Through and through."

* * *

Secret Facility, Russia

Maybe this one-stop shop to Hell's isolation cell was a miracle in disguise. Hannah got the chance to think some stuff over. The world seemed quiet, peaceful even, when she was the only one awake.

She thought of numerous things, but not about the present, whether or not her parents were going to get her and Evan out, but about the future. The future she left behind, the crying mother she left alone in the world.

God, she felt so guilty now, but then again, who wouldn't be guilty with leaving their widowed mother back home? She could almost imagine her mother, dark red hair, sweat dampened with people surrounding her due to long hours at the refuge.

Then, there was the subject of Michael, her brother. The brother she left to have his skull pried open by the most monstrous villain ever known. Hannah missed him, missed, even, his long brooding fringe, that their mother always said he inherited from his father, missed the fact that no matter what, Michael always had a way to make everything better.

Whether it was his on-top thinking, or a joke or two, he always mad everything better. It was as if his power wasn't showing off balls of fire, like their Grandma Meredith, but to bring light back to the world of darkness, as cheesy as that line was.

Hannah covered her face with the palms of her hands, to think until a mysterious voice interrupted her. "You shouldn't keep thinking about me," it said.

It was smooth like satin sheets and soft like honey in the morning and immediately made her calm. She opened her eyes, and saw Michael, dark and brooding, back to the wall and smiling.

"I can't help it," she answered. "Are you real? Did they make you?"

They meaning the villains, maybe this was merely an illusion made to sway her for, she guessed, information.

"No, on both counts. You made me, I'm just a thought in your mind, Hannah," Michael said. "But what for what it's worth, I wish I was real."

"Me, too," Hannah smiled, and inched closer to imaginary Michael. "I miss you." She felt a tug on her hand, and smiled at Michael. "I never thought it would be this hard, Michael."

"What?" Michael asked

"Everything. Getting Mom and Dad together, saving the world, saving you. All of these things make me want you here even more. You always had a way of making everything better. No one said it had to be this hard, Michael," Hannah said.

Before she knew it, tears streamed down her cheeks, hot tears that had been threatening to come out had come out. Michael did something unexpected it, and wrapped his little sister in his imaginary arms as Hannah continued.

"I don't think anyone cares about me as much as you," she said, not more than a breath to be heard.

"I'm sure someone does. I can see that Mom already cares about you, and Dad will get there. But for now, I know one person who cares about you," Michael said.

"Who's that?" Hannah asked. Michael merely nudged at the sleeping boy on the other side of the room.

"Evan? No, I don't think he cares. I'm just fun to annoy. He doesn't care," Hannah said.

"I can see he does, so easily," Michael said.

"If you're a figment of my imagination, aren't you supposed to agree with me?" she asked.

Her older brother laughed, and said, "Maybe your mind sees things you don't."

"I wish you were here, Michael," she said.

"I'm always here. I promised Mom I'd take care of you. That promise doesn't end. Ever," Michael said.

Hannah looked up to him, just like she'd been doing her entire life, and saw him wear a melancholy smile on his face, and she immediately knew. "You have to leave now, don't you?" she asked, stating the mere obvious.

"Yes," he answered. "I'm so sorry."

He got up, pressed a soft kiss on her feathered hair, and said, "Take care, Hannah." Then he disappeared into thin air, leaving her alone with her many tears. He was gone, forever, and she knew she'd only join him in death.

Michael, the brother she loved, the brother she always knew would take care of her, was gone. Her sobbing was loud, loud enough to wake Evan up.

"Hannie? Hannie, what's wrong?" he asked, and crouched down to her.

"I just saw my dead brother," she said.

He didn't ask questions like she thought he would didn't throw sarcastic jokes like she thought he would, instead did something totally out of character. The teenage boy wrapped his arms around the future daughter as she continued crying.

* * *

Las Vegas

"Peter?" he heard a voice coming into his room. The empath looked up, and saw Mia, smiling against the doorway.

"Claire's not back yet, is she?" he asked, and Mia shook her head.

"But, don't worry, Niki says she's alive and well. She just needs a little time to be alone," Mia said, sitting on his bedside. "I'm sure you do, too."

"Then why doesn't everyone leave me alone?" Peter asked.

"There are people who care about you, Peter, more than anyone could've predicted. They just wanna make sure you're okay," Mia said.

"I just want everything to go back to normal. I want me and Claire to be friends again, no strings attached. Truth is, everything went downhill when Hannah came along," Peter said.

"You're regretting your daughter?" Mia asked.

"No, I don't regret her. She's the only one who made me see my mistakes, it's just hard," Peter said.

He looked up to Mia, the only one who understood, the only one who made him come back to earth when his head was in the clouds.

"It's hard to meet her expectations, and then meet Nathan's. Sometimes I wish I had a Jessica, like Niki," he said. "Someone who could do everything I couldn't, and give Claire and Hannah what they want and then give Nathan what he wanted."

"You can't be two people at once, Peter. Right now, there are only two options. Choose one, before you lose your head, Peter," Mia said, as Peter closed his eyes in concentration. In his mind, images swirled around him. Flashes of his dreams, and his past, all intertwined with Claire.

"Peter, are you okay?" Mia asked, as Peter snapped his eyes open again.

His concentration was fixed on the table lamp on the nightstand. He wasn't sure what he was about to do, but he needed to think about something other than Claire. Why not fix his mind on the pretty little lamp?

That wasn't all that happened. Beyond his all thoughts, the lamp moved. His powers, they were back. "Peter?" Mia asked again.

"Tell Niki to call Claire, and get Hiro here," Peter said. "I've got my powers back."

* * *

A/N: The next chapter, the team will be heading to Russia and save Hevan (Hannah/Evan- credits to Ira for the adorable ship name) so until then, keep the reviews and song ideas coming!

-Aly


	13. Light and Darkness

**A/N: It's official. This is my most hated chapter ever! But hopefully I'll get better...**

**Enjoy and please convince me otherwise!

* * *

**

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**Light and Darkness"**

**It is common belief that good is judged by light, while evil is judged by darkness. Good represented by a perfect angel, while evil has its own way, of monstrous delights. But is it possible, to have one person, completely divided between good and evil. What becomes of them?**

Secret Facility, Russia

"I had a brother," Hannah said, her face still decorated with tears, dry and wet colliding with each other. Evan was right by her side, listening to every word avidly, something she never thought he would do. Maybe Michael was right, maybe he did care.

"His name was Michael. He died right before I came here," Hannah continued. Just by those two sentences, she felt a new stream of tears joining their company. "He's been telling me, for months, maybe even a year, to go back and fix all of this. I never listened to him, and now he's dead. I was too selfish to listen to him," she said.

"You were doing what was best, at the time. You couldn't have possibly known, Hannah," Evan said, brushing his hand on her shoulder.

Hannah looked up to her companion, tears and all, and smiled. "Did you just call me Hannah?" she asked. Evan shrugged and gave a little smile

"Just thought you needed it," he said.

"Who knew Evan Kinney had a sensitive side?" Hannah said. "I guess you bring it in me," Evan smiled.

Hannah's fingers intertwined with his, as she said, "Thank you."

"You would've done the same for me," he said.

"We'll see," she smiled.

For the past eight years, ever since going into the world of wars and fighting, she never made time for that special person. Friends were fine to come by; the people she'd saved had become close friends over the years, but never a boyfriend.

She remembered a boy, three years her senior, a fellow vigilante, Eric. He tried to flirt with her, trying to make the best of his time left on earth. He was fine, funny and handsome, but Hannah never gave in. He died in battle soon after.

This time, Evan moved his hand to her cheek and kissed her.

* * *

Observation afternoons were boring. Daphne Millbrook was assigned to watch over every camera, every inch of their inspected floors in the dark room. The room was somewhat morbid to be in, but it was the only place not inspected on the camera wall, making it the only sanctuary she turned to.

The speedster pressed the palms of her hands on the table as her eyes searched one camera to the other. "I feel sorry for you," someone said.

Daphne turned around to see Sylar smiling and dressed in nothing more than an attire of blue.

"You shouldn't be. I like it here," Daphne said, nudging to the chair next to her for the serial killer to sit down.

"Look at them," Sylar said, pointing at the left screen, in the isolation cell. In it, their two prisoners were snuggly in each other's arms.

"Glad to see someone's enjoying their time here," Daphne smiled.

She tore her eyes from the screen to look at her friend, the only kin she had in this place. His knowing brown eyes seemed to search every inch of her, every flaw and doubt. He knew her, just like she knew him. She knew there was some good in him, a part that would be unveiled to her soon. And he knew that she felt lost, that she was only forced to do this job.

"Look at that," Daphne said, looking back at the screen, on the third camera to the left.

It was a hallway, just like the many other hallways, and there were two doors on either side. The door on the left was moving.

"What is that?" she asked. "Couldn't be moving by telekinesis, the only telekinetic one here is you, and you're here…"

Sylar was already at the door, and she asked, "What is it?"

"I'm going to go call Natasha. It's Peter, Daphne," Sylar answered. "He's here."

* * *

"Hold on to me," Peter said to his two comrades. Ando and Mia were safe in Las Vegas, and he decided to only bring along Claire and Hiro. As much as he wanted to avoid Claire, it was a fact she could help them beyond everything.

His two friends gripped to him, Hiro taking the right side of him while Claire stated her territory on his left. Just by her touch, Peter felt a tremor revel through his body. If she could just stop doing that, this would be a whole lot easier on his part.

Peter turned the knob of the door, and rendered him and the other invisible to the outside world. "Where are they?" Claire asked.

Peter seemed to know, every step he took seemed familiar to him, since he saw all of it when he channeled Molly's ability. He finally stopped in front of a room, complete with an ID card slot and a vault-like entrance.

"They're in there?" Claire asked, pointing at the vault.

"Apparently," Peter said.

"Who keeps human beings in a frickin' vault?" Claire asked, angered.

"Let's hope it's not this small in the inside," Peter said, looking sideways to the petite cheerleader. If he'd been given the chance, he would've lost himself in her eyes alone. But he knew he couldn't, so he pulled away from her gazing stare.

"We stay outside, Peter?" Hiro asked.

The way the Japanese man said his name was somewhat comforting because he knew no one else said his name like that, hidden underneath his thick accent: _Pee-ta._

"Yes, you'll stay outside. Just wait for me to get back, okay?" Peter said to his friend.

Hiro nodded, as he saw the empath phase himself through the vault entrance. Inside, every surface was padded with soft, white walls, and at the end of the room were his daughter and Evan.

Both were sweat-dampened, both looked exhausted and tired. All Peter wanted to do was get them out of here. "Hannah!" he said, and ran towards her.

The man gave his daughter a warm embrace, radiating every feeling of guilt and remorse he'd been holding on to for the last few days.

"Peter!" she breathed out in his hug.

"No," Peter said, pulling away from his contact. "Call me Dad."

Just by that, he could see a slight glint of a smile curving itself on her lips. On the door, there was banging on the walls and a woman's yelling to accompany it.

"We really need you right now, Peter!" Claire yelled.

"Come on," Peter said, taking both of the prisoners by arm and phasing all of them through entrance.

On the other side, Claire and Hiro were getting busy. The villains, who, conveniently had all five of them, were already striking, and Natasha took liberty on the cheerleader.

"You never listen to your elders, do you?" she asked her.

"Not when my elders are bitches," Claire shot back.

The woman had her arm on Claire's neck in a defensive move, and said, "Smart mouth."

"Peter, glad you could join us," Natasha said, as she saw the empath walk through the vault and entered the hallway. Peter and the two others looked stunned as ever and Hannah looked ready to kill.

"Hannah," Natasha said.

The future daughter yelled, "Let me get at her!" as the woman merely laughed. Evan held her back by the arms, and managed to calm her down.

"Hiro!" Peter called out to the Japanese man. As soon as the man's gaze was planted on the empath's, Peter nodded.

Hiro quickly got Claire out of Natasha's grip and closed his eyes. His first duty, always, was keeping Claire safe, as much as she didn't want it.

"Peter!" he could hear her call out but it was too late. Hiro and Claire were already gone, leaving the team of three to deal with the five villains.

"Ready to go?" Peter asked, looking sideways to Hannah, but she wasn't there.

"Uh, Peter?" Evan said, and pointed the man to Hannah.

She was scared shitless in Flint's arms, taken hostage. The man with blue flames had his ignited hands scarily close to the future daughter's neck, ready to burn her to a crisp.

"Let her go," Evan said his hands up in defense.

"Or else what, huh, boyo?" Flint asked. "You don't have your powers, do you? I can say the same about your girlfriend here."

Peter looked at the boy, and asked, "You don't have your powers?"

Evan shook his head, as Natasha explained,"It's a little cocktail we have up here in Russia, Peter. Can take away someone's abilities, so easily. Hannah and Evan were the first to try it out."

Flint's blue hands inched closer and closer to Hannah, making Peter flinch. "What do you want?" Peter asked.

"Who said we wanted anything?" Flint asked sinisterly.

"You're a couple of sick bastards, you know that?" Evan yelled at them.

Peter saw that that was one other member of their team that didn't seem to be enjoying the moment: a hidden woman. She had her head held low, in disgrace, or shame, he couldn't really tell. She wasn't like the rest of them, she didn't want this.

"Stop time," Evan whispered, seeing his new-found girlfriend being tortured right on the spot. "Stop time. It's the only way."

Peter looked at his daughter, her neck sweat-dampened due to the heat she was receiving. He closed his eyes, and concentrated. Once he opened his eyes, everything and everyone was still in the air. Their expressions frozen in time, their sinister remarks paused by Father Time, it was only him. Or so he thought.

"You can't do this," she said. It was the woman, the helpless girl in the crowd.

"You're the speedster," Peter said. The woman solemnly nodded at his remark.

"You can't do this, Peter. I can't let you go," Daphne said. "They'll…"

"They'll what? You don't belong with them. I can see that," Peter said.

"If you're trying to convince me to let you go, you're dead wrong," Daphne said.

She looked up to him, seeing his brown eyes, and saw the striking similarity he bore to Sylar. It was as if Peter was his exact counterpart. Sylar being the one on this side, Peter on the opposite one, but no one could deny how similar they were.

"All I'm trying to convince you of, is that you don't belong here," Peter said.

"If I don't belong here, where do I belong?" Daphne asked.

"Wherever you want to belong," he said, smiling. She was surprised, no one ever said anything like that to her; no one ever convinced her she was better than she took herself for.

"Go," she said. "Before I change my mind, go." Peter smiled, and got a grip on Evan and Hannah.

"Wait," Daphne said.

"What?" Peter turned back.

"Knock me out. So that they'll…" Daphne lost her voice.

"Say no more," the empath said.

With that, in just one swift movement, he punched the speedster in the nose, and saw her fall to the floor. And, with the blink of an eye, time resumed, and the team of heroes was gone.

* * *

"Evan!" Mia said, as she saw the teenage boy appear out of nowhere. She ran towards him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked.

Evan pulled away from Mia's embrace, put on a smile and answered, "From Russia with love, baby."

"Should we pick now to inject these two with Claire's blood? Seems like they really need it," Mohinder suggested, looking at the heated two from Russia.

"Okay, but take Hannah first. She's been through hell of a lot more than me," Evan smiled.

"All right then. Claire, Hannah, follow me," Mohinder stood up, and nudged the two beauties into his makeshift lab.

The 'lab' was nothing more than a mix-matched bedroom with a microscope and a laptop on the desk. "Please, just sit while I get my tools," Mohinder said, nudging to the bed.

Claire sat, and patted a seat for Hannah. The future daughter smiled as she placed a seat next to her mother. "I'm sorry you had to go through everything," Claire said to her.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad. It just sucked at the end where Flint had me as an experiment to his Bunsen burner," Hannah said. "How're things here?"

To Hannah, that had got to be the most random question she could've asked. She did just get out of a two-day holiday break in Russia.

"Good, I guess," Claire said, looking down to her hands on her lap.

"You and Peter?" Hannah asked.

"Not good," Claire chuckled.

"Do, uh, you wanna talk about it?" Hannah asked her mother.

"Not really. Not now, anyway. You just got back, and I don't want to burden you with our dysfunctions," Claire smiled.

"Alright, Claire, are you ready?" Mohinder asked.

She nodded and sat in a chair next to the geneticist, as he drew blood from her arm. It was normal for her, in fact, it was miniscule pain compared to every other injury she'd inflicted on herself.

"Ahh," Mohinder said, showing Claire her blood in a perfect, glass vial. "This should cure Hannah's injuries," he said.

"But, can it restore my powers?" Hannah asked.

"What do you mean restore your powers? You still have them, don't you?" Claire asked her daughter.

"No. Natasha said she put together something that could take away my abilities, and that me and Evan were the first to try it," Hannah explained.

"So it couldn't be the Shanti virus," Mohinder said.

"OK, wait, fill me in right now. What the hell is the Shanti virus?" Claire asked.

"It's a virus that only targets evolved humans, people like yourself. It infected my sister, Shanti, and Molly two years back. That could mean that whatever Natasha's making, it's a new residue. Something the world hasn't seen, but has the same effects of the virus," Mohinder explained to the two women.

"My blood can cure it, right?" Claire asked Mohinder.

"We can only hope. But since you have pure, regenerative blood, it might cure anything. We should give it a try," Mohinder said, readying his syringe and looked at Hannah, "Ready?"

* * *

After their shots, Hannah and Evan sat at the couch, just sitting there in each other's arms. They did nothing, merely overlooking what they'd been through. Everyone left them be; they needed their time alone.

"You okay?" Evan asked, after moments of silence.

"I guess. I'll just have until tomorrow to find out whether or not Claire's blood cured us," Hannah said, looking up to him.

She was surprised at how much they fit together, like pieces of a puzzle finally combining to form one pretty picture. She never expected to find a relationship when she time-traveled nineteen years into the past, let alone that relationship being with Evan. He'd always been an asshole, now, she knew, he was a nice asshole.

"Hi, Hannah," she heard someone say. She looked up and saw her father, nervous with hands in his pockets.

Hannah looked at Evan, and said, "Leave us?" The teenager did so, and left her with her father.

"You and Evan are hitting it off," Peter said, sitting opposite her.

"Yeah, we are. I never really expected it," Hannah said. "Look, Peter…"

"Hey, I'm not Peter anymore. I'm Dad, remember?" Peter smiled, and shrugged to his daughter. Hannah looked down, and laughed.

"Peter, I can't call you Dad. Not yet," Hannah said.

"Why not?" Peter asked.

"I get it. You feel guilty. After what I said at the battle, you have a right to be. But I can't call you Dad," she paused to take a breath. "I can't call you Dad because we're not a family. And we won't be until you and Claire get together."

* * *

A/N: Oh, come on, who didn't expect Hevan coming?** P.S. The couple songs on the TFT CD, will include Peter/Claire, Hannah/Evan, Peter/Hannah and Team Petrelli. So keep the reviews and song ideas coming!**

-Aly


	14. Loose Threads

**A/N: We finally get some Paire in this chapter! Yes, you can finally rejoice, Paire shippers!**

**Enjoy...

* * *

**

**Chapter Fourteen**

"**Loose Threads"**

**There should only be one destiny for each person. But God has hand-picked these saints, for a different path, a path carved with love and Fate. This is the road to lead them. Is there an end to this path God has named Life? Or will it follow us, until the depths of death? **

Las Vegas

Peter Petrelli was shocked. He went into his temporary room, and sat on the foot of the bed replaying the words Hannah said like a broken record. How could he have not noticed anything anyone told him?

Hannah pointing out the obvious was the biggest wake up call the young Petrelli ever had. Molly had pointed out, yes, and Mia, too, but hearing it from the one person who had seen Peter and Claire's happy ending was big. It basically slapped him in the face for being so stubborn, so oblivious.

He could only imagine the fool he made himself in front of everyone else. It took that one person to point out everything everyone had been telling him all along. It took only Hannah to tell him what had been told for countless times. And it was Hannah who would lead him to Claire, fearless.

Peter didn't think he was afraid anymore, even if he was, he was more afraid about what would happen to their family than of Nathan. What would happen if he didn't tell Claire he loved her? He could only imagine. Hannah wouldn't exist anymore for one thing, and she was one of the people he couldn't bear to lose.

He needed to tell her. Peter realized he needed to, not only out of obligation, for Hannah, but for himself, too. He owed it to himself to take the one thing he wanted more than living: Claire. He even owed it to Claire, who confessed she loved him, too.

Peter realized when Hannah came here, her one and only mission was to save the future from becoming the future she grew up in, but Peter's own stubbornness made Hannah's mission even more complicated. He added one other task on Hannah's list to complete: getting her parents together.

Peter burdened her, with this one thing that could've been out of the list a long time ago, if it wasn't for his own stubborn mind. It had taken him this long to figure out, to put together everything people had told him, and finally go through this decision.

And his decision, forever, was to love Claire, without even caring, or fearing. This was his decision.

* * *

Russia

He and Daphne walked through the hallway, on their way to meeting Natasha for a quick briefing.

"Do you think she's going to tell us about her plan?" Daphne asked.

"Of course she's going to tell us. She's been holding out for days," Sylar smiled down at the speedster.

Her nose was a bit bent by Peter's punch, but she didn't mind.

In fact, she was jolly, and didn't want to talk about the mission that went downhill. She looked the other way when Sylar brought Peter up, and what he did to her. "He didn't do anything. I just got knocked out," Daphne kept saying when Sylar brought it up. "No big deal, Sy."

The pair of friends walked down the hallway, and stopped in front of a black-painted door.

"This is it, right?" Daphne asked Sylar.

"Yeah, this is it," Sylar said, opening her door, that revealed a room as dark as its door.

"Gabriel, Daphne," Natasha greeted her two accomplices. "Sit down, the rest of us are already here." And it was true; Knox was already there, sitting on one of the seats, with Flint by his side.

"I'm sure you all know why you're here," Natasha said, facing the four villains. "I'm here to tell you what our plan is."

"See?" Sylar said smugly to Daphne, to which she scoffed.

"As you all know, our first batch of Restrain can be cured by pure, regenerative blood. Our second batch, this strain, will be incurable. There is no substance on earth that can cure it, making it unstoppable. I have bullets," Natasha nudged to the guns on the table. "That are completely doused with Restrain. Five guns, for five people. I need each of you to take one after this."

The guns sat, glistening, like black diamonds in the equally dark room. Daphne never wielded a gun, and she hoped she would never have to. This was a silly request since she was part of Villains Incorporated.

The young Millbrook was never good with weapons; the only weapons she'd ever used in her life were her strong hands and super-fast feet. Now she had to pocket a gun that could kill every person imaginable. If someone like Peter, with regenerative abilities, were to be shot with said gun, there was no turning back.

Daphne knew Natasha: she would work out every flaw and defect so that every creation of hers became a gleaming miracle in her eyes. God knew she had the money, and the people to rule over. That was what being a wife of a casino mobster was for.

Daniel Linderman left his precious wife with enough money to take over the universe. But as far as Daphne was concerned, all that money was black money.

"But we all knew Restrain was merely Plan B," Natasha smirked to the crowd.

"So what's Plan A?" Sylar asked, sounding like a curious five-year-old.

"This," his mother said.

Her hands latched themselves on a sound contraption. It was as if the brightest minds had compiled every genius machine to make this one. It was tall, silver shone off its body, and, there is was, the Lever of Doom.

Daphne didn't know what that Lever did, but her personal experience with Levers weren't always good. She could see there was dozens of controls to control the machine, blinking with urgent lights, and the Red Button of Doom to match the Lever. Once again: red buttons, never good.

She looked sideways to her friend, and saw that his face became pale as Natasha explained the plan. He never looked pale; Sylar was always strong, never weak. But, listening to Natasha's plan, Daphne could understand why he picked now be the watchmaker's son he always was: fragile and helpless.

* * *

"Sy?" Daphne called out. She searched everywhere for the serial killer, from his room to the bathroom.

And she found him in his most hated place: the observation room. They'd just finished their meeting, and Sylar didn't exactly take it so strongly. He walked out of the room, and they never saw him. Until now, that was.

"Sy?" Daphne asked again.

The watchmaker's son flinched, and turned to see Daphne.

"Are you okay? I'm a bit worried," she said.

"No, I'm not okay, and neither should you. Natasha's plan is crazy," Sylar said.

"You know it's crazy when a head-cutting, brain-removing serial killer says it's crazy," Daphne said.

"It's not a joke, Daph," Sylar said, angered.

She'd never seen him like this. She always knew there was soft side to Sylar, but she never knew it would be at this. She never knew it would unravel at his mother's plan.

"This is serious. More than serious, actually. And to think it came from my own mother," Sylar said, covering his face with his hands.

"Since when did my son grow a heart?" a voice said.

It was loud, sinister even, enough to get their attention. They turned to the door and saw Natasha, gleaming in her own beauty.

Sylar got up, faced his mother to her eye-level and said, "Since you're too busy destroying the world to care." With that, he walked out the door, and Daphne followed suit.

* * *

Las Vegas

Claire Bennet found Las Vegas the most serene place she'd ever visited. This sounded crazy since a few kilometers from the Sanders home, there were fat, rich men gambling all they had with girls on poles waiting for them in their luxury suites.

But, for now, merely a few minutes from the Sanders home, it was serene, peaceful. The former cheerleader had her hands in her pockets, breathing in the night's breeze. She evaluated her life.

The questions that sprouted two years ago, during the time she saved that fireman in that train wreck: am I normal? Am I different from everyone else? The questions that came up when she found out about her biological family: Do they even want to know me? Are they special, like me?

And the questions now: can we stop the villains? What are they actually planning? Will Peter finally get his head out of ass? Claire chuckled at the last one, but it was the question that bugged her the most.

She didn't care, not at the least, about what Nathan would do, what the world would do to them. And Peter shouldn't either. Wasn't it enough that he loved her, and he was loved in return?

Peter was hurting her, more than she could ever imagine he could. She needed to feel hurt again. It had been days since she'd actually been physically hurt, ever since the battle. The blonde paced the sand, and saw that in the distance was a water tower, and it immediately reminded her of the building she used to jump off of in Odessa.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. She missed it, the hurt she felt when she fell to the ground, Zach, even the cheerleader outfit she wore while she jumped off. Mostly, she missed her old life. She would give everything she had to be overcome with naïve thoughts again, to feel her dying for the first time.

But now, there was one part that could make her feel that way again. She climbed up the water tower, and looked down. It wasn't high enough to make every house look miniscule, but it was high enough for her to forget there was ever a ground to fall into.

Claire closed her eyes, extended her leg to feel the impact of suicide. And then, she jumped. Sweet release, and soon she would feel pain to match. Closer, and closer she was to the ground, but she didn't make it that far. Someone caught her before her impending death, a death she just happened to look forward to.

"You weren't supposed to catch me," Claire said, looking up to her empathic savior. It was, of course, Peter, who saved her from her fall.

"I had, to, Claire," Peter said, the cheerleader in his arms. They were flying in the air. "The sight of you dead isn't something I can bear."

Claire looked away from him and said, "Peter, you can't keep doing this. I need to know what you want from me."

"I don't want anything _from_ you, I want _you_," Peter said.

Claire opened her mouth to respond, but, too late, Peter's lips had already covered her remark. It was heaven; it was as if they were made for each other. Her soft lips felt home next to his hard ones.

"Peter…" Claire said, pulling away.

"Look, Claire, I made the mistake of turning you away and I am not doing that again. I have you, I love you," Peter said, "the rest of the world can be damned."

"You don't mean that," Claire smiled.

"Yeah, well, no, but, right now, you come first," Peter said.

"Peter?" Claire said, still in his arms, but now, enjoying the moment.

"Yeah?" Peter asked.

"I love you, too," she said, and Peter responded by giving her a smile.

"Glad to hear it. Now, shall we take a joy ride, my lady?" he asked.

His companion, the woman he loved, giggled and he took that as a yes. He lifted her higher and flew. Flew on top of every house, every building until they saw the sparkling glint of Sin City in the distance. Wind blew in her hair, as she looked at Peter's face.

Right then, Claire could not imagine anything more wonderful than that moment. If there was, she hadn't experienced it yet. But, what could be more wonderful than being in the perfect man's arms, flying to nowhere in particular?

* * *

"Early day?" Molly asked her boyfriend.

The teenage girl got out of bed to get some water, but saw her boyfriend seated in front of his computer, avid in his information.

"No, not really. It's just something's been bugging me," Micah answered, his eyes still glued on the screen.

Molly took a seat next to him, and placed her head on his shoulder. Little did she know that simple action gave the teenage boy shivers down his spine.

"That is?" Molly asked. Micah looked at her girlfriend, peeling away his eyes from the screen. Her eyes were still tired, signaling that she should be resuming sleep, and her brown hair tangled.

"Okay, do you remember the video we found? Of Sylar and Natasha in front of the school? And the school just happened to be Peter's birthplace?" he asked.

"Yeah…" Molly said, looking up at him.

"Well, look at this," Micah said, pointing her to the screen.

It changed from a page with search results to a birth certificate from Preston Memorial Hospital. Micah told her what these meant, and it was a bit too much information to process.

"So you're saying?" Molly asked, but couldn't even finish her sentence.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. And I have hard evidence to prove it," Micah said. "You know what this means, right?"

"Yeah," Molly said, looking at him, eye to eye, "We need Peter and Claire here."

* * *

A/N: I wonder what they found....Review, people!!

-Aly


	15. Possession

**A/N: A somewhat short chapter, since it wasn't really the chapter that had a lot to work with, but i still hope you enjoy it! You get some solid Paire in this chapter, so...rejoice?**

**Enjoy...

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**Chapter Fifteen**

"**Possession"**

**It takes only one to live, to trudge the carved path. But it takes two to love: to love and to be loved back, which begs the question, if it takes one to live, does it take two to die?**

By the time Micah and Molly had made their discovery, Peter and Claire had already snuck back into their rooms, without anyone knowing they even went anywhere. The two closed their eyes, on their own beds, without sleeping, only immersed with their loving thoughts.

Claire had her hand on her cheek, only replaying the memory of Peter's lips on her own, and his arms wrapped around her as they flew around. She didn't care of the consequences, of the inevitable fact that he was, in fact, her uncle. All she cared about was waking up, and finding that he loved her, too.

"Claire!" someone was shaking her, disturbing her Peter-induced dreaming. She grunted, as she opened her eyes slowly. Above her, shaking her was the boy genius Micah with an urgent look on his face.

"Micah? What's wrong? Is everyone okay?" Claire asked, getting out of bed.

"Yeah, everyone's fine. It's just, there's something I have to show you," Micah said.

Claire crawled out of bed, and walked to the living room, where he was leading her by the arm. Much to her surprise, almost everyone was awake. This must be something big. Evan was still yawning from sleep deprivation, with Hannah's comforting arm around him, while Peter was rubbing his eyes, wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers. Said attire was not helping Claire compose herself. Molly sat in a seat next to the computer.

"What's up?" Claire asked the two teenagers.

"Well, we found something that we thought you should all know about," Molly said, nudging Claire to come closer to the computer.

"Alright, all of you remember the video Micah found, right? The video of Sylar and Natasha in front of the elementary school?" Molly asked the crowd, and she was answered with sleepy nods.

"Preston Elementary used to be Preston Memorial, which, all of you know as Peter's birthplace. Well, look at this," Micah said, putting his hand on the screen, which turned into a blank page with no results or anything. "I checked Peter Michael Petrelli on the old hospital database, and look at this. No matches, nothing."

"What?" Peter asked.

"So I checked Peter Michael on the database. Three matches and one of them fit Peter perfectly. His birth date, his weight, virtually everything. But this Peter Michael wasn't born a Petrelli. He was born a Linderman," Micah said.

"I'm…I'm a Linderman?" Peter asked, processing everything.

"It gets weirder," Molly said, seeing Peter's already shocked face.

"Peter Michael Linderman was born with someone seven minutes earlier. Peter, you have a twin brother," she said.

"That _is_ weirder," Evan said, and Hannah smacked him in the arm.

"You two were born to Daniel Linderman and Natasha Christensen," Micah said.

"Natasha? Whoa, whoa, whoa! You didn't mention _Natasha _was my mother! Oh, no way! No way am I even remotely related to that bitch!" Peter said, angered.

Claire gripped on his arm, signaling him to cool down. He looked to Claire, shaking her head modestly.

"Okay, then. Who's my brother, then? I want at least one sane family member," Peter said.

"Someone named Gabriel Zechariah," Micah said, reading off the screen.

"Oh my God," Hannah said, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Hannie, what's wrong? Do you know him?" Evan asked his girlfriend. Hannah looked at him, then to the anxious crowd.

She composed herself and said, "Gabriel Zechariah was Sylar's real name. Peter, _Sylar's_ your brother."

"You have no idea how Days of Our Lives the world just got," Evan said.

* * *

It couldn't be. Sylar, the man who caused a murdering massacre amongst evolved humans, couldn't possibly be Peter's brother. Twin brother, at that. Peter was empathic, loving and everything good about the world, but Sylar was heartless, a self-sufficient monster to her.

The two had no similarities whatsoever. Peter was the hero, but Sylar, he was the villain. Claire struggled to wrap her mind around it, that one time, 28 years ago; Sylar was just an innocent baby in his mother's arms, and his twin brother in the other.

28 years ago, Gabriel Zechariah Linderman was born normal, innocent and miraculous. But now, Sylar had taken over the young man's mind, leading him to catastrophes, and murders.

Claire could only imagine what could've happened if Gabriel grew up as Gabriel, not as Sylar, if Gabriel hadn't been so immersed in the idea of being special.

"How are you taking all of this?" a voice said behind her, his hands on her hips and his breath on her neck. Claire turned around, and saw Peter's smiling face.

"Question is, how are_ you_ taking all of this, Peter?" she asked.

"Sylar is a monster, and whatever it is, I am nothing like him. The family I grew up with is my family. Daniel Linderman is not my father, Arthur Petrelli is. Natasha is not my mother, Angela Petrelli is, and Sylar is not my brother, Nathan is. But, even so, you, Claire Bennet," he kissed her, "are not my niece. And that is the only blessing that could've possibly come out of this."

"I guess we should be celebrating, huh?" Claire said, smiling.

"I guess we should. And I have the perfect way to," Peter said.

He led her by the arm to the living room where everyone was seated. Niki, DL, Mohinder and Mia woke up eventually, and Micah briefed them all about their newest discovery. Before Claire knew it, Peter's lips were on hers, melting them in a passionate kiss.

In the background, she could hear some whooping, from Evan, and a lot of clapping. They pulled away, hand in hand, and looked at the crowd. "Finally get the man there, huh, Sunshine?" DL smiled at the cheerleader.

Claire could feel her cheeks getting hot at the comment, as she saw others smiling and happy for her own joy. Peter saw Hannah's smiling face among the crowd, and asked, "Hannah?"

She got up from her seat of the couch, and hugged him. "Hi, Dad," she said. Peter couldn't help but grin widely.

* * *

The only people who didn't go back to sleep were Molly, Hannah and Peter. The older man suggested cooking some simple, early breakfast, and eating it in front of the television. The two girls, wide and awake despite their low sleep hours, agreed and watched as Peter cooked in the kitchen.

Ingredients were scarce in the Sanders kitchen; even the cereal was all gone. It hadn't been a while since the young man had let himself cook for others. The last time had been for Claire, and they had an early breakfast together, talking over nothing more than toast and eggs. Now, it seemed he had to result to the same breakfast.

"French toast and scrambled eggs?" Peter asked his audience.

"Sounds good," Hannah smiled at him.

Hannah forgot this side of her father, the side that was always happy and willing to have a smile on his face at all times. This side of her father disappeared, as far as she knew. The last time she saw it, the smiles, the joy, was a few months before he died. He became solemn, unwilling to even read his children a bedtime story like he did before. It was somewhat nostalgic to see this happy Peter.

It brought back memories of happy times, of playgrounds, and of made-up bedtime stories. Before she knew it, as she drenched herself with old childhood memories, her father had already finished cooking breakfast.

"Now for the crappy reruns," he said, placing the three plates on the table in the living room.

"The perfect morning," Molly smiled, as she dropped onto the couch, placing the plate on her flat stomach.

"What shall it be, ladies? Friends reruns or My Little Pony?" Peter asked, flipping through the channels.

"I don't really mind," Hannah said.

"Hmm, look at this. The cooking channel, how to make chicken pot pie," Peter said, smiling.

One of the bedroom doors opened, revealing a sleepy Claire, rubbing her eyes. "Morning," she said to the three sitting on the couch. "Morning, yourself," Peter said, getting up and giving Claire a swift peck on the cheek.

Molly immediately moved to DL's chair, to have room for Claire. The teenage girl smiled as she saw the loving interaction between Peter and Claire, and their contact with their future daughter. Molly had never seen such a happy and dysfunctional family, all at once.

But who cared if they were dysfunctional? Who cared if Peter and Claire once thought they shared blood? Who cared if their offspring came nineteen years from the future? These obstacles were merely facts. For what it was worth, love overcame everything for this family, even though they only spent a few hours as a family. Love overcame everything, even being dysfunctional.

* * *

Russia

Rooms were endless, just like the hallways leading it. Natasha had hell of an architect, due to her large amount of money, but it couldn't hurt to add a little bit of color. Daphne Millbrook walked through the halls, still full from her early dinner. Sometimes, she just liked to walk through, pass the numerous paid agents, and through any dark rooms.

A naïve part of her thought there was a secret room somewhere that would reveal any secret anyone had. She was sent to find Sylar. It was time Natasha was leaving for New York, to the elementary school. No one told her what the hell she was going to do there, but she bet it wasn't anything innocent. Sylar's room was up front. Its door was blue in color.

The only thing that had color in the building were the rooms. The doors were usually painted with cool colors, from a cool icy, blue to the darkest shade of aqua she could imagine. Daphne knocked on the door, but knowing he would never answer, she turned the knob. Inside, it was like a mastermind's lair. Notes were scattered everywhere, a mysterious symbol on his table, and Activating Evolution on his bed.

"Sylar?" she called out.

No answer. She looked around for a clue of where he was, somewhere in the building maybe, or nowhere. There, on his bed, a note. She sat on the foot of his bed to read it, and realized that he took Natasha's plan seriously. Sylar was gone.

* * *

A/N: More words next chapter! But I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter! Review! And for those who don't know yet..the link to the TFT Fanmix is on my profile!

-Aly


	16. Living for No One

**A/N: Chapter Sixteen!! Whoo! Read and review!

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Chapter Sixteen

"**Living for No One"**

**Father Time stops, leaving everyone still in the air. It gives him time to evaluate everything man has done, and for a millisecond, he almost does not want to resume. But he does, because he knows, as long as there is evil, there is good. There is love. **

Two Days Later

Russia

The middle-aged woman, with dark locks and equally dark eyes, placed her fingers on the frosty window, feeling the cold radiating from each fingertip to the other. Natasha Christensen never really left her motherly instinct, the feeling she got as soon as her two sons were born.

She held on to it when she mothered Peter and Gabriel for two years, until Daniel decided to give the boys to adoption. For some reason, only Gabriel was legally given to adoption, Peter was merely given to the Petrellis to take care of. Ever since that day, a summer's day that was supposed to be fun for her and the boys, a part of her broke.

She soon monitored her husband's plans, and, in due time, discovered her own abilities. She then realized they had burdened their children with abilities, too, and it could possibly explain why Peter was just given to the Petrellis like that: Angela had one of her dreams, a dream that showed Peter as a powerful hero.

Natasha knew that part of her, the part Gabriel called her heart, broke, and it was beyond repair. Even after all those years, after she found her dear son, it was still unfixable, because no matter what, she couldn't bear herself to love anyone. Not Gabriel, not anyone else.

Her real family was torn apart, her husband dead, her oldest son a killer, and her other son fighting on the opposite side. Natasha realized Daniel didn't always make the right decisions.

Two days ago, Daphne Millbrook told her that her son had disappeared, gone from anyone's view. "Find him," Natasha had said to Daphne. "Take anything that you need to take, bring everyone that needs to be brought."

Daphne nodded at her orders, standing still. "Daphne, I trust you to find my son, no matter what," Natasha said.

"Of course, of course I'll find him," Daphne said, in her super speed position, ready to run. "He's my family, too."

Today, Natasha dwelled on her past, her past self she'd shed all those years ago. She had a picture, a reminder, more of a scar, of what she could've been, and who she really was.

The edges of the picture were bent, crunched, but she could see the picture perfectly, and remember the details fresh in her mind. It wasn't even a month after the twins were born, and Daniel was home, for once. He'd laid down his suitcase, undid his tie and greeted his wife with a swift kiss on her cheek. It wasn't usual for Daniel to come home, usually he was busy and merely slept over at the casino, so Natasha wanted to document the moment.

Their old camera hadn't been used ever since Peter and Gabriel were born, so Natasha decided to take a picture in front of their house. It was lovely weather, and she brought out the twins' new strollers, Daniel did his tie once more, and Natasha spent a good fifteen minutes fixing her hair. Daniel assured her that she was always beautiful, and thought nothing of it.

They went outside, Natasha placed their two boys in their strollers; a wonderful gift from one of Daniel's many friends, Charles. In a click of a button, a picture was born, documenting the happy life they'd had. Once again, Natasha thought nothing of it, merely a scar, just a memory lost in her mind.

When Daphne told her of her son's disappearance, Natasha could've sworn she felt it again: the instinct she left 26 years ago, when she handed over her sons to Fate. But, the scarred persons she was, she shrugged it off.

* * *

Las Vegas

Two days passed. Two days, in Claire's opinion, that was filled with bliss. With Peter by her side, loving and caring, she felt a newfound pull towards their company. She suddenly wanted to hang out with them more, especially with Molly and Micah (the house had taken enjoyment in naming the couple 'Mocah') and Hannah.

Her future daughter was solemn at times, thinking of the next fight, the next time they would run into the villains. But once she loosened up, Hannah was nothing more than a bundle of joy. She seemed to share that similarity with Peter.

But no one completed her as well as Peter. No matter what, she always had him, had him to talk to, and had him to kiss as long as she wanted. They'd shared a bed for the past two nights, clothes on (which was a miracle on Claire's part). Sometimes, they didn't even sleep, they were content enough to trailing finger patterns on the other, talking about their lives, and kissing when talking got boring.

Occasionally, Claire would tell a joke, and send Peter smiling and uttering those three words she loved to hear from him: "I love you." It seemed those three words were becoming a special guest star in their lives, and she loved their presence. She loved knowing that it wasn't just a one-sided relationship, she was in love, and she was loved in return.

Today, they snuck out of the house, and decided on some alone time. "Peter?" Claire asked, once they found a bench in a nearby park.

"Hmm?" Peter asked, sitting down next to her.

"What are we gonna do about Nathan once he finds out?" Claire asked, hands on her lap, looking at him.

"Who says he has to find out?" Peter asked, kissing her.

She pulled away, and looked seriously at Peter. "I'm serious, Peter. I sorta like the hiding out, but he's gotta know sometime. He's my father, and he was your brother," she said.

Peter looked at her, locking his brown eyes with her green ones. He then put his hands around hers; giving Claire shivers down her spine. "Look, Claire. I am never going to leave you. I love you more than I've loved anyone in my entire life," he said. "No one on earth is going to change that. I couldn't change the fact I loved you when we thought we were related, and now, no one's going to. If Nathan finds out, then he finds out. If he shuns me out of the house, then I'll go, at least I loved you like I wanted to. I am never going to stop loving you."

Claire felt tears streaming down her face, as she answered, "If he shuns you out of the house, you can bet that I'm coming with."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, put her chin on his shoulder, and she could've sworn she heard him smile. She pulled away from his embrace and kissed him on the lips, her hands on his face, feeling all the love for him coming out in that one kiss.

"I love you," she said, breathing out.

"I love you, too, Claire," Peter said, putting his lips to her forehead.

She kissed him again, melting both lips in a passionate kiss. Peter's hands seemed to travel on their own, as she felt them on her hip, comforting her easily. It was also doing another thing to her…

"Peter…" she said, before she lost herself in his touch. "I want you." Peter pulled away, his hand still on her hip.

"Are you serious? Claire, I'm not pressuring you to do this, we don't need to right now," he said.

"But I want to. I want you, I need you," Claire said.

"Okay, that's enough reassurance for me, then," Peter laughed.

He closed his eyes, still keeping his contact with Claire and before she knew it, they were in the confides of their makeshift room. Peter locked the door, leaving them in their privacy. God knew they needed it.

* * *

It was funny how her breathing was completely in sync with his. Her head was placed comfortably on his bare chest after their love-making. It was close enough for Peter to breathe in her sweet scent, and it was enough to lose himself in.

He realized, when it came to Claire, it wasn't just sex: they were making love. He smiled at the thought, that no matter what, no matter how long he lived, she would be there by his side. Claire stirred in her sleep, causing her to move the other way. It also caused her lover to drown himself in thought.

It was the strangest relationship he'd been in, because, it had been so fast, hurdling towards him, crashing. Love had hit him so fast, he wasn't sure if he could ever recover from Claire's spell. It had been barely three days since they named each other part of a relationship, but he didn't care.

It could've been less than two hours since they first kissed, he still wouldn't care. Wasn't love a miracle, and no matter what, they should cherish it? Peter closed his eyes, letting himself drift into sleep, with Claire accompanying them. But Claire disappeared as his dreams became nightmares.

In it, his surroundings were nothing more than a dark hallway, doors ajar, and lockers around him. His feet seemed to know where to go, and they led him downstairs. He didn't go down stairs, he phased right through the floor to another level. It was darker there, and he wondered who would come down here. In a distance, he saw an aggravated woman, her eyes searching every surface of the floor. It was Natasha.

Peter woke up, with a gasp escaping his mouth. He had to find her; he had to find out what she was searching for. Peter got out of bed, kissing Claire's hair as he put on his clothing. He had to stop Natasha. In a blink of an eye, he was right where the nightmare started.

* * *

Peter felt coldness around him. It was nighttime, and the New York school had long ago called it a day, leaving the school dark and alone. But Peter knew he wasn't alone, he knew his biological mother was hidden well beneath the concrete floor.

The school was like any other school, with children's paintings on the boards, and decorative lockers sprinkled with the children's passions and likes. There was one locker, covered head to toe in pink, with plastic flowers adoring its edges. A drawing of a unicorn was on the right side of the locker, with the child's name right in the center, written in cursive penmanship: Veronica.

Peter wondered if Hannah was ever like this: full of joy, and imagination of fables. He knew the Hannah now only knew of fighting and swordsmanship, but she couldn't have been always like that.

There must've been a time where she had a world that was filled with nothing more than imagination and rainbows over her head. There must've been a time where Hannah was only innocent, naïve from the world around her. She could've had the same dreams as this Veronica, and wanted nothing more than spend her free afternoon with her parents.

Who knew, maybe Peter wouldn't only father a daughter, but a son, too. A son that he could take away for 'male bonding' and such. If that happened, he and Claire would be a perfect family, two parents that were in love with each other, a boy, and a girl. He smiled at the thought.

In the distance, the empath heard footsteps and a relieved sigh. Peter quickly turned himself invisible and looked around. It was Natasha, smiling with a metal box in her hands, and a sword by her side. _Damn _was Peter's only thought.

Peter decided to sneak up on her and quickly grab the box from her hands. It was proven to be a hard job, since Natasha kept looking sideways, sometimes directly at the invisible Peter, burning holes through him with her dark eyes.

"I know you're there, Peter," she called out. Peter saw that his biological mother's hands were already glowing with fire. He decided it wasn't worth it anymore, and looked at his mother, completely visible to her eyes.

"How's Claire?" Natasha asked. Peter quickly turned his hatred for Natasha to concern for Claire.

No, she was right where he left her: post-coitus, in bed, and perfectly safe. But that didn't stop him from worrying. Being her lover didn't lessen his concern for the cheerleader's safety, in fact, it increased by high amounts.

"Where is she?" he yelled out.

Natasha stepped forward to him, and made the first move. She burned him, just like last time, only this time, the pain was more minimal. That gave him the idea she wasn't going to stop at the burning; she was going to use the sword on him.

"She's fine," Natasha said, burning him on the arm, but the injury healed in seconds. "I'm more worried about you, son."

"Why isn't Sylar with you?" Peter asked, composing himself and standing up.

"Your brother is weak. He couldn't hurt his family, let alone his own brother," Natasha answered, with a smirk.

Peter realized by that sentence, that meant that Sylar found one inch of his humanity for his family, but he let it slide. "Then tell me why you would," he asked.

"Because I'm special," Natasha smiled. Peter immediately remembered the same thing Sylar said while Peter punched him senseless.

"Dear God, crazy runs in the family," Peter said.

"It's only because you're next, son," Natasha said. With that, with her sword, Natasha slashed his right arm, a straight line from his elbow to the palm of his hand. It was a new kind of torture, a new level of pain, and Peter yelled for his life. The pain was excruciating, he couldn't imagine anything else that hurt more.

"You're not my family. No bitch will ever be my mother," Peter choked out, spitefully.

"That hurts, Peter. You know, I used to love you. We used to be a family, all four of us," Natasha said, placing her hand on his chin.

She pulled a picture out of her jacket pocket and showed it to the man in pain. He could see it, amidst all the pain. The happy couple, content in each other's arms, and twin boys in identical strollers.

"That's you," Natasha said, pointing to the boy on the left.

The picture fell to floor, as Natasha gave Peter another scar. This time, the pain was unimaginable; it was a slash on his face. It ran from his right eyes to his left cheek in a diagonal line.

"We all have our scars, Peter," Natasha said, showing him a mark on her arm, a battle injury. "Now so do you," she said, as she saw her son fall to the floor. "Welcome to the family, son."

* * *

A/N: I think the scene with Peter and Natasha could've been written better, but yeah...Review!!!

-Aly


	17. Destroyer of Worlds

**A/N: The chapter's title obviously comes from the 'I Am Become Death' poem. I just loved it, and I needed to include it in my story. The chapter focuses solely on the Las Vegas storyline so...enjoy!

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Chapter Seventeen

"…**Destroyer of Worlds"**

**Life could not be ended. They say death ends a life, forever more. But that it not true. As long as there is that one person who loved the deceased, life can never be truly ended. Because death does not mark the end, the end of love is where the string breaks. **

Las Vegas

Light hit her face, forcing her to open her eyes to see the blinding light greeting her. It wasn't natural sunlight; it was merely a flashlight from the outside, the light coming through the door that was, strangely, ajar.

In fact, it was still nighttime, and everyone was tucked inside their beds, warm in their comforters or in their lover's arms. Speaking of which, Claire thought it was peculiar; she slept with Peter's arms around her, now they weren't there anymore.

The blonde turned sideways to see Peter's side of the bed completely bare. Tangled sheets were their only occupant, not a handsome raven-haired empath.

"Damn Peter!" Claire yelled, realizing. She couldn't believe it, that he would leave, that he would leave after sex!

"Damn damn damn!" Claire said as she put on her clothes, and stormed out the door.

The blonde was still zipping up her jeans as she searched furiously around the house, trying to prove her suspicions wrong. But, no, Peter was gone, just like she thought. He'd gone after the villains, Natasha, probably. She cursed under her breath and she went to the door of Hiro's room.

"Hiro!" she yelled as she tapped on the wooden door. After a few moments of knocking, the door opened, revealing a Japanese man, still tired and rubbing his eyes.

"Cheerleader Claire?" he asked, trying to focus on the petite blonde. "What is wrong?"

"What's wrong is that Peter left, Hiro. He fuckin' left!" Claire said angrily.

"Where?" Hiro asked, stepping out his doorway and closing the door so that Ando would get the sleep he couldn't.

"After the villains, no doubt," Claire said, looking around for her jacket. "I need you to teleport me." She threw his jacket at him, catching him off-guard.

"Okay," Hiro said awkwardly, putting on the item of clothing. "Where?"

"The school," Claire said, putting her hand on the Japanese man's shoulder.

They were soon pulled into the darkness, and the scene of the homely house disappeared before their eyes. Now, they were in a school, dark and cold. Her anger towards Peter immediately changed quickly to concern and love. The shift of feelings happened when she saw a body on the floor.

"Oh my God," Claire said, clapping her hand over her mouth.

She crouched down to the body, and held Peter's hand in hers. It was so cold, so…lifeless. Blood flowed from his face, from his arm. His shirt was soaked with sweat and blood. She saw that there was a deep cut on his face, and another one on his arm. Before she knew it, images flashed through her head, the voice of the man she loved accompanying him.

Images of their first kiss, their night in bed, embraces, and mindless chatter went through the archives of her mind. They say you could see your life flashing before your eyes, and it was true. If Peter died, Claire would, inevitably, follow him. She felt tears streaming down her cheeks, dropping down to Peter's chest.

"Peter…" she said, brushing back his hair. "Come on, Peter, regenerate. _Please._" The last word was a plea, he had to regenerate; he couldn't die, not when they were this close to happy. Peter's eyelids fluttered to see the crying blonde.

"C-Claire?" he said weakly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Claire said.

She looked up to the awkward-looking Japanese man, looking down on them. "Hiro, help me get him up," she said.

Hiro did so, and put his arms around his good friend. The Japanese man looked down to almost-lifeless Peter and had on his face of sadness, of grief. Claire nodded at him, and he teleported the lovers back to their safe haven.

* * *

They dropped on the floor, breaking a photograph frame in the process. Out the window went the idea of being subtle.

"Put Peter on the couch, I'll go get some help," Claire said to Hiro.

The Japanese man did so, and placed Peter on the couch, on his temporary deathbed. Hiro noticed that his old friend's face was pale, so stiff with no emotions. The scar slashed his face, ruining his innocence in the process. He looked like the Peter in the future, who he only saw for a tiny bit.

Peter was on his way to becoming who he was then: emotionless. What made him like that? Was it the scar? Was it Natasha that ruined him? Hiro remembered he never saw Claire in the future, maybe that's what broke Peter: the loss of the love of his life.

Hiro saw his right hand was balled up in a fist, as if holding something. Surely he wouldn't mind, Hiro thought as he clawed open his friend's fist, revealing a crumpled picture.

It was a memory frozen in time of a man and a woman, in a lovely embrace and two infants in identical blue strollers. Hiro flipped the picture, reading the sentence at the back, written in black ink. It read: 'The Linderman family--- Natasha, Daniel, and their two blessings, Gabriel Zechariah and Peter Michael.' He looked up to man, and painted sympathy on his face.

He put his hand on Peter's, and felt nothing. Nothing meaning no pulse; no life. Moments ago, Peter was only weak, not dead, but now… The Japanese man saw that Claire had come back, bringing back the entire house in tow. And here it came...

"My God," Niki said, clapping her hand over her mouth. Her blue eyes scanned the empath, from the lifeless, limp body to the two scars marked on his body.

"I am sorry. Peter's heart…it stopped," Hiro said, saying the worst news that could've possibly come to the company.

Molly was the first one to start crying. The youngest of their group, she sat next to Hiro, and put her hand on Peter's. "But, why isn't he regenerating?" she asked. "Dad?" Mohinder didn't know how to answer his ward's question, and kept silent.

"What about Claire's blood?" Evan spoke up. Hannah looked from her dead father to her boyfriend at that. "Peter told me it could cure everything. Maybe Peter's too weak; maybe Claire's blood can give him a boost."

Claire looked at the Indian geneticist, who immediately went into his room for his tools and a vial of Claire's blood. In that time, everyone mourned.

Claire sat at the foot of the couch, and placed her head on Peter's bloody stomach, crying silently. Hannah stood near her mother, her hand on her shoulder, with Evan's on Hannah's, comforting the future daughter.

Molly sunk herself in her boyfriend's arms with Micah's comforting sayings of "Ssh, everything's gonna be okay," when the boy genius didn't know how it was going to end up. Hiro and Ando stood awkwardly, watching the sad scene like a tragic movie. Mia stood, arms crossed, looking worried for the empath. Niki and DL held on to each other, as they saw the Indian man come back from his room, with a bloody vial in his hand.

Claire backed away so that Mohinder could, hopefully, revive her lover. In went the syringe, into Peter's uninjured arm, and there was nothing else to do but wait.

"How long does it take to work?" Claire asked Mohinder, brushing back Peter's hair.

"Depends on the person. But the longest is a few minutes," Mohinder answered the cheerleader.

"So if he's not alive in what? 30 minutes?" Evan asked looking at the geneticist. "Then he's…"

With that, he looked worriedly from the dead empath to the dead empath's daughter. But, even so, Claire was the one everyone was worried about. Niki couldn't imagine just waiting to see if DL made it out alive, waiting for the moment of truth that could break her heart.

"Claire, are you okay?" Niki asked her friend.

Claire couldn't bear to look the mother in the eye, to tell her truth of her breaking heart. She kept her green eyes planted on Peter, the love of her life. "No," Claire said, leaving the morbid scene for her room. She closed the door, and locked herself in. She crashed her back with the wall, and just sat there, crying her heart out.

* * *

Claire Bennet had never been heart-broken, had never thought life was not worth living, but, now, she was getting close to it. If Peter died, forever, she wouldn't know what to do. Everyday tasks would be done half-heartedly, love would never be the same; life would never be the same without Peter.

Was there another person that could illuminate the best in her? Was there another person who she could love so unconditionally, and so much so that it took all of her to pull away from him? It was the love that fairytales were made of; even Homecoming came right out of a fable. The forbidden love, at first, then came the welcoming of their arms to the world.

It was everything Claire ever dreamt of; the feeling of belonging, the feeling of being part of something. She remembered when she said those very words to Peter two years ago at Kirby Plaza, and when she felt his hand wiping away her tears and doubts.

For a moment, then, she forgot they were related, she forgot about the world ending; the only people around were her, and Peter, frozen in time. Peter completed her, made her alive.

If there was no Peter, there would be a soulless Claire. If there was no Peter, there would, for Claire, be no love to hold on to. No hope to cling to. Claire's life was a fragile string on the line, only Peter had the power to make it stronger again. If Peter wasn't there to save her, the string would break, and so would she.

* * *

"I'm worried," Niki said.

It was the thought on everyone's mind; it was inevitable it would pop in their heads in an odd moment. Niki had her elbows on the kitchen counter with her hands wrapped around her coffee mug, DL's arms around her. Molly and Micah disappeared into Micah's room, and Hiro and Ando both looked solemn. Mia had her head on the kitchen table, with Mohinder rubbing her back to comfort her.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" Niki asked the group. "I don't think I can go to his funeral."

"I don't think any of us can either," Mia spoke up.

"Peter is family. No matter what, we should be there for him, even if it is at his funeral," Hiro bowed his head. Ando clapped a hand on Hiro's shoulder, looking at him.

"Peter is the one who brought this family together. Without him, we wouldn't be here right now, together," DL said.

"Hear hear!" Evan said, holding up his coffee mug.

A chuckle ran through the kitchen. Everyone agreed they needed someone like Evan around them, even in solemn occasions like these. Someone who could throw in a joke every once in a while, awkward or not. Someone who could put a smile on their faces, no matter what. If Evan had to leave someday, there wasn't a doubt that they would positively miss him.

"If Peter dies," Niki said. "I want his funeral to be beautiful. I want to let him know there were people who love him, and people who are going to continue to love him."

"Agreed," DL said, smiling slightly.

Suddenly, silence washed the crowd of talking, of being relaxed. They took a look at the LCD alarm clock in the kitchen, knowing time was running out. They knew that if Peter did not revive in those minutes, they had to plan the funeral. The funeral they never wanted to attend.

* * *

"Are you gonna be okay?" Evan had asked her, as he made a move to the kitchen, to join the others in worrying over coffee. DL suggested it, since it was going to be a long night. The adults jumped on board to grieve and mourn while Hannah decided to stay behind in the living room with her motionless father.

Hannah looked up to him, tears and all, and answered with a sweet smile and a nod. Evan gave the future daughter a kiss on the forehead and went. She focused her attention on her father, and laced her fingers through his.

"Dad, can you hear me?" she asked. It sounded like a naïve question, since she never expected an answer.

"If you can, just know that you can't leave. You can't die on us, not now. More importantly, you can't die on Mom, not when things are going way better," Hannah said. "I don't know what Mom's gonna do without you, or me, for that matter. I might not even exist anymore. So, basically, if you die, I die."

Hannah felt a chuckle escape her lips, and gave a tiny glint of a smile. She fingered the scar on his face, running her fingers on the deep cut. She could only imagine the pain he'd been through when the sword slashed his face.

"Mom loves you," she said, her hands still on his face. "We all love you. And, even though I never say it, _I_ love you, Dad. After everything we've been through, all the shit you've thrown at me, I love you. How could I not? You're my father. I love you."

Hannah had never said something so full of emotion, so personal ever. 'I love you' was somewhat not in her vocabulary. Ever since her father's death, she never said it. She always knew it was the truth, and everyone knew it, so what was the point of saying the obvious?

Only now she realized she needed to say it, no matter what. Hannah looked at her father, looking like he was only sleeping, not dead, merely swept away by slumber. Her hands were still in his, not feeling anything.

Wait…Hold on just one frickin' minute…Did he? Oh my God. There it was again: the tug on her hand.

"Oh my God!" Hannah said. "Dad? Dad, please, Dear God, wake up!"

Even one second of waiting was torturous, Hannah thought, as she saw his face twitching. His eyelids fluttered, almost revealing those brown eyes she wanted planted on her.

"Guys!" Hannah yelled. She could hear fast footsteps coming her way, a door opening.

"Peter!" Hannah could hear Molly say. Claire sat next to her daughter, waiting for Peter to finally wake up. After five torturously long seconds, Peter took a deep, long breath. The empath looked around at his surroundings, at the people looking down on him, like angels, and the two angels by his side.

"Han-ah?" he asked. "C-Claire?"

The two women felt tears on their cheeks, and embraced Peter with all their love, all their might. "I love you," they could hear Peter say.

But they stayed silent in their embrace, because, they knew, no words needed to be spoken. Because there weren't any words that could describe their exact feelings right about then.

Peter, too, stayed silent after those three words, and sighed with relief. This was where he was meant to be; surrounded by friends and squished in between the two women that meant the world to him.

* * *

"Peter, I'm sorry," Mohinder said to him. Mohinder had suggested doing a check-up on Peter to cease the pain of his two scars. But, nothing worked for him. "Your scars cannot be cured. We've tried an infusion of Claire's blood, everything. I'm sorry," Mohinder said.

"Natasha found something that couldn't heal. How?" Peter heard Hannah ask.

"I don't know, Hannah. All I could pick up from Peter's wound is a little bit of unknown residue," Mohinder answered.

"Unknown meaning if we don't know what it is," Hannah said, but her boyfriend finished her sentence with a, "we can't fix it."

"Wait," Evan said, putting his hand up. "Maybe this is a new strain of what we had. Natasha injected us with some sort of residue, too, and our powers didn't work. Claire's blood cured it maybe because ours was a test run."

"So you're saying the sword was doused with this formula or something?" Peter asked.

"That could make sense," Mohinder said. "Hannah and Evan's formula only targeted their abilities, and yours targeted your, well, life. Your powers still work because the formula didn't enter your system, just scarred you."

"Just?" Peter asked angrily.

"Natasha worked out the bugs on this one. This strain of the formula can't be cured, with anything. Claire's blood, anything. Claire's blood cured you because you didn't die from the pain of the scars; you died from all the blood loss," Evan said. "If that sword was plunged into you, then, there wouldn't be a comeback."

Claire glanced from her daughter's boyfriend to her own, and kneeled to face him at eye level. "It's gonna be okay, Peter," she said.

"No, it's not. Look at me, Claire! Look at these scars! I'm marked!" Peter yelled at her.

Claire looked at him seriously, and entwined her fingers with his. "No, you look at me, okay?" she said. "I don't care that you have scars, I don't care one bit. I care about you being alive, I care about _you._ I don't care if you're marked, or if you're scarred for life, it only matters that you _have_ a life. I don't care if you are the Beast; it only means that I'll be your Beauty." Claire could hear a chuckle from Peter as she said it.

"Now, come on," Claire said, helping up from the chair. "Niki made us something to eat." Peter and Claire went into the kitchen, full of happy, smiling faces. Hannah, Evan and Mohinder followed them, and sat with their friends.

Niki served the chicken to them, with her best china. Peter noticed, and asked, "Are we celebrating?"

"Of course we're celebrating," Niki said. "We're celebrating the return of our favorite hero."

"Toast?" Molly asked, holding up her glass of water.

Niki poured the adults some champagne and mimicked Molly's movement of holding up her glass. Others followed with a bright smile.

"To Peter," Niki said.

"To Peter!" the others yelled.

Peter could hear the clanking of glasses colliding with each other, commemorating his return. The empath looked around him and saw what Claire had already said: they all loved him, and all they cared about was him being back. The mix of characters was what made Peter's life meaningful and so blessed.

Niki and DL, the loving parents he never really had. Hiro and Ando, the loyal friends from the Eastern border, along with the trusty Indian geneticist. Molly, the girl who taught him to see the good of the world and, her boyfriend, Micah, the boy genius always thoughtful of others. Mia, the first person to totally understand him, Evan, the life of the party, and Hannah, the daughter he felt every love for.

Then, of course, there was Claire. The love of his life, the light to his dark, the, as Claire said, Beauty to his Beast. There were no words to really describe how much she meant to him. If there were, he didn't know of them. Were there words that symbolized the cheerleader that crashed into him, with Fate's hands playing their game? Were there any sentences to put together for the woman who had saved his life, inside and out? Were there any verbs he could think of for their relationship, full of love and dysfunction?

No, there weren't, because what Claire meant to him couldn't be summed up to a word, or a sentence, because Claire wasn't a word. She was his life.

Claire caught him staring, which brought the world back to speed, instead of the slow-Matrix speed Peter had in his head. He could hear the world now, of laughter and love, instead of the mute he was listening to moments before. Only Claire had the power to do so: to bring him back to reality.

"I'm so glad you're here, Peter," she said to him. As she said that, Peter looked around, and saw his blessings again, saw the people God had given to him as a miracle.

"Same here," he said.

He then kissed Claire: the one blessing he loved more than anything. It was a soft one; just enough to tell her he loved her without saying a word. He pulled away, and Claire gave him a tight embrace. It was true: this was all a blessing. Who cared about the scar on his face? It was a miracle that he was still alive to experience his life, to appreciate it more than he ever would.

He had to thank God for that. Because he was here, with his angels, he was alive, breathing, and he was in somewhere better than heaven: he was home.

* * *

A/N: The chapter took all of me! I needed the scenes to bittersweet, or bitter through and through. Hopefully it got out okay. Please review if you like it! **PS: The perfect song for the death scene (in my opinion) is Proof by Coldplay. If you all agree, it will be on the Soundtrack. **

-Aly


	18. Lost and Found

**A/N: The title is very significant. The scenes are arranged to see which is Lost, which is Found. I'm sure it's easy to see...ENJOY!

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Chapter Eighteen

"**Lost and Found"**

**There is never a full world. When some have obtained love and bliss, some have gotten hate or destruction in return. It is not something we want to acknowledge, but are forced to. When some have been found, others are lost. **

_Las Vegas_

The black, bald man was working the night shift at the fire department. Sometimes he hated it, hated that he wasn't there to tuck his son into bed, or spend some quality time with his wife before she fell asleep. But he took the job without complaint, because, no matter what, providing and supporting his family came first over any selfish reason.

DL Hawkins got into his car, his firefighter uniform in the back seat. It had been too long that DL had felt happiness. The feeling ran through the house ever since Peter was resurrected, and it ran through him, too. He was blessed in the fact that his family was safe and happy. He felt grateful there wasn't a Jessica that could ruin it, or any other person.

DL smiled as he took a turn, leading him to a road with deserts of sand on each side. It was calming to see it, to see nothing but sand and the stars above him. Surely Niki wouldn't mind him being a little late. The black man pulled over and merely looked up at the beauty above him.

In the distance, DL could see a shady figure, its black silhouette fitting in with the background. "Are you lost?" he asked the figure.

The figure of a man didn't answer, but stepped closer. The man, when came into light, was dressed head to toe. Which you think might not be so peculiar, but not so much as a strip of skin was seen. A trench coat covered his body, while his head was dipped as he wore a black hat.

"Are you looking for someone?" DL asked.

"Yes," the figure answered.

"Maybe I can help," DL said, getting out of the car to face the man.

"I know you…" the man said, it was a soft whisper, enough for DL to say, "What?"

"Nothing," the man said. "I'm looking for Peter Petrelli."

"Peter?" DL asked.

Why was this man lurking for Peter? As far as everyone knew, Peter Petrelli was back home, in New York City, not in Las Vegas like he was. This might be one of the villains coming to collect. No, they wouldn't get Peter that easily.

"Peter Petrelli, you say? Nope, I don't know him," DL said nonchalantly, putting his hands in his pockets.

The man looked up from the ground to face DL, a little of his face showing. Those thick eyebrows seemed familiar, as if from a nightmare of his… "Sylar," DL realized.

"You're lying!" Sylar yelled. "I need to know where he is!"

"You're not getting him!" DL yelled back. Sylar's hand found his throat, and began choking the black man.

"Tell me where my brother is!" Sylar roared.

DL had a nosebleed now, and he was defenseless. He tried phasing through Sylar's hand but it couldn't work. Sylar's other hand pointed a finger to DL. No…

"If you won't tell me where he is…I'll just-" Sylar said, snapping his neck.

_What am I doing?_ Sylar thought. _Why am I killing this innocent man?_ But it was too late; DL Hawkins had drawn his last breath, as the serial killer saw the man drop to the sandy ground. Sylar looked down on the dead man, and saw yet another worthless victim. With a swoop of his trench coat, Sylar ran from the scene, disappearing into the black night.

* * *

_Two hours before DL leaves_

"Do you really have to go?" Micah asked his girlfriend.

Their company was about to leave. Mia was going with Mohinder and Molly in Brooklyn, Hiro and Ando found solace in Las Vegas, so they decided to stay with the family, and Evan and Hannah were following Peter and Claire back to New York.

"I can't stay here forever, and you know it," Molly said, and gave him a hug. Micah pulled away from the contact and stood in front of Mohinder.

"Mohinder, can I have the permission to kiss Molly goodbye?" he asked the Indian man.

Mohinder looked at Niki, who had her hand over her chest touchingly. Then he glanced back to the teenage boy, and said, "Go ahead."

Micah smiled at him, and did so. He kissed Molly on the lips, and it could've been the cutest thing Claire ever saw.

"Is everyone ready for take off?" Peter asked the group.

"Yeah. It's not like we packed anything after the battle," Claire said, hugging Niki goodbye.

"Wait," Hannah said. Everyone turned to the future daughter, who was smiling to her company. "Let's take pictures. Commemorate the moment. We never know what's gonna happen tomorrow, we might as well be reminded how happy we were the day before."

"That's a great idea," Peter said to his daughter. "Niki, is your camera still in working order?"

"Yeah, I'll go get it," Niki smiled and went to her room to get the said equipment. When Niki came back, everyone had on their smiling faces, pure happiness floated over them.

"Come on, family shots," Hannah tugged on her parents' arms. Peter felt awkward, realizing this was their first picture as a family, a perfect, happy moment frozen in time. Hannah stood in the middle, placed her arms around her parents with a smile. Then came the push of the button, and there it was: their family moment together.

Then came the Sanders' turn. Hiro and Ando took a picture together, since they were so close to family. The misfits of the group, Evan and Mia, embraced each other for the eyes of the camera. Mohinder picked Molly up for the picture, even though, in reality, it had been years since he picked his ward up.

Couple shots came next. It was perfect; it was as though, in the house, everyone was with someone, whether in friendship, like Mohinder and Mia and Hiro and Ando, or in love, like Peter and Claire and Niki and DL. Everyone had their counterpart, everyone had their best friend, and it was beautiful to realize.

Finally, for the final shot, the whole group, twelve in all, squeezed in with smiling faces. Niki set the timer, and counted the seconds until their true family picture was taken. Now, no matter what, they still had this picture to cling to, to remember the people they loved, to remind them they always had company that cared about them, always.

* * *

_Hyde Park, NY_

Morning. The team slept soundly for about seven hours, and celebrated in the fact they got home undetected. It was a unanimous thought that it was the best sleep they ever had ever since the battle.

Before the battle, Evan was comfortable enough sleeping on the couch, but everything had changed and he was now welcome in Hannah's room. Much to Peter's dismay, that was.

Peter and Claire decided, for the night, to sleep in their individual rooms. It was hard for both parties, since they were so used to sleeping with a warm body next to them. But they knew the sleeping arrangements wouldn't last forever, just for now, when Nathan was still oblivious to their relationship.

When morning crept up behind them, the blinding light greeting them to a new day, both Peter and Claire were engulfed with hugs and 'welcome back's from the Petrelli family. The two outsiders, Hannah and Evan, were greeted, instead, with smiles and polite nods.

But one thing stayed constant amongst the family of Petrellis: the curiosity that stirred seeing Peter's scar on his face. "What happened, Pete?" Nathan asked him.

"I just, uh, got in a fight," Peter said awkwardly to his ex-older brother.

"Can't you regenerate?" Heidi asked, awkwardly, too. It had been a year since Nathan told her about their powers, their abilities.

"It's not that simple. It's hard to explain, sort of," Peter glanced to Claire by his side.

"You know what? I don't care, just glad you're back, bro," Nathan smiled, hugging his little brother. Or so he thought.

"Are you planning anything for your day back?" Nathan asked Peter.

The empath smiled to him, then to his daughter and her boyfriend and finally smiling down on the love of his life.

"Actually, tonight, I'm thinking of taking Claire out," Peter said. He looked at Claire's father and asked, "Would that be okay?"

"Sure, she needs a night with family, after what she's been through," Nathan smiled at his daughter.

Peter almost laughed at how oblivious Nathan was, that Peter and Claire were no longer family, they were something so much more.

* * *

_The Nevada Desert_

He didn't know how far he ran, but he knew that he ran. So far that he couldn't see DL Hawkins's car anymore, and couldn't see the corpse he left behind next to it. He ran so far there wasn't a living soul around him, only him and the existence of God present in the stars and the skies. Amid the lost civilization, he could hear the ticking of his scarred Sylar watch.

Sylar never thought he could feel this guilt again, the guilt he felt when he took his first victim. He thought he left it behind, just as he left his name behind, his life behind. But Sylar was back to being Gabriel Gray again, feeling the guilt, knowing his mother never really loved him, and being a monster.

Natasha was right, when she first saw him, in his Level 5 cell, she told him he was a monster, that he would never stop killing. She said it wasn't anything to be guilty about, that it was merely how he was, and she accepted him for who he was. But Sylar realized now, Natasha was a bad mother, a bad person, for telling him that. Because no one should be accepted a killer, no one should be looked up to just because they killed someone special.

At first, he thought it was natural selection, survival of the fittest, but he realized he wasn't right. At first, he just wanted to be special, to rule over evolved humans and show off his magnificent powers to the world.

But then he couldn't stop, he was becoming addicted to the power, it was overtaking. He promptly labeled in the hunger; the need to see people as they really were, to take what they didn't deserve. He tried to stop it, but it was apparent he couldn't.

"Sy?" a voice called out. Who could be looking for him? "Sy?"

Sylar stayed quiet, and prayed the person would go away. He could hear a phone flip open, and a woman's voice.

"Nope, Natasha, Sylar's not in Las Vegas. I don't see the point of him going here, it's not like there are people of importance here," she said. Sylar recognized the voice, the woman who gave him relief. "Yeah, I'll call you when I find him," Daphne said.

"Daphne?" Sylar asked into the dark night.

"Sylar? Are you there?" Daphne inched closer, and saw her friend on the sandy ground.

Before the serial killer knew it, the speedster embraced him tightly. "I was so worried," she said into his neck. It had been years since someone had embraced, since someone expressed actual love to him, and he decided to enjoy the moment. He placed his hand on Daphne's hair, stroking it gently.

"Why are you here?" Daphne asked, pulling away and looking at him seriously.

"Peter," Sylar answered. "Peter's here, I think. I think he's been living with the Sanders."

"Why did you want to find him?" Daphne asked, sitting down on the desert surface next to her good friend.

"I wanted to tell him. Tell them everything, about Natasha's plan, everything," Sylar said, and saw Daphne's shocked face. "But I didn't. I found someone, one of the Sanders. I remember him from Kirby Plaza." Sylar stayed silent after that, remembering the incident reeling in his head like a black-and-white movie.

"Sylar, what happened?" Daphne asked, putting her hand on his arm.

The serial killer looked at the speedster, and said, "My mother was right, Daphne. Natasha was right. I am just a monster."

"What are you talking about?" his companion asked, confused.

"I tried to stop it, I tried to stop. But I couldn't. I killed him, Daphne. I'm a monster," Sylar said. "That's all I am. I'm a monster, a killer."

"Come on, Sylar," Daphne said, picking him up by the arms. "Let's go home." But the epiphany stayed in his head as Daphne transported them at the speed of sound. He was just a monster. No one would save him now, and, more importantly, he would save no one.

* * *

_Hyde Park, NY_

"Who was that?" Peter asked her.

Claire was in her room, getting ready for her big 'date' with Peter. She decided to wear casual, dressing in a white shirt and simple jeans. Someone called on the phone, surprising her, and here Peter was, standing in her doorway.

"Niki," Claire answered. "She's worried about DL. He hasn't come home yet."

"I'm sure he's fine," Peter smiled at her, hands in his jacket pocket. "Are you ready?"

Claire looked up to him, seeing his smiling, happy face and asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"Out, my lady. I know you're not hungry, since you pigged out in the kitchen. So I thought we could take a walk and see what we have," Peter stepped forward to place a subtle kiss on her lips. "Don't worry, no one's gonna catch us."

"Did you just read my mind?" Claire asked, looking at him.

"Is there a rule against it?" Peter asked.

"There should be. Plus, I have no secrets to keep from you. Honesty is key in any relationship," Claire smiled.

"Oh yeah? I thought it was not being related to each other," Peter said.

"That, too," Claire said, walking out the door, and opening the door to the outside world.

"You're not even saying goodbye?" Hannah asked. Peter and Claire turned and saw their future daughter and her boyfriend.

"Thought we could sneak out," Peter shrugged. He hugged his daughter goodbye, and looked at Evan.

"Take care of her, will you?" he said to the teenager.

"Of course," Evan said. The pair of ex-uncle and niece walked out the door, feeling the air slap them in the face.

It was a cold night, and Claire prepared in advance. She put on her thick jacket, a seventeenth birthday present from Heidi. It was awfully sophisticated, something Claire never was.

Peter put on his jacket, too, and wrapped his fingers with hers. Claire smiled at Peter's direction, but he acted oblivious to the contact, as if it didn't mean anything. But, to Claire, it meant everything. Just to be touched by Peter was amazing, and knowing the fact that he didn't want to hold anyone else but her.

Yes, it was a cold night, so Claire held on to Peter's arm, pulling him tighter to her and rested her head on his shoulder. She hadn't felt this cold in a long time. In fact, she hadn't felt this cold since the last Christmas with the Petrellis.

"I can't wait till Christmas," Claire said, out of nowhere.

"That was random," Peter laughed.

"What do you want me to get you?" Claire asked him, looking up to his face.

"You know what? I've always hated Christmas," Peter said.

"Why?" Claire asked, incredulous. "The snow, the presents, the hot cocoa your parents give you after you open your presents. How could you hate it? Please don't tell me I'm in love with Scrooge."

"No, you're not. I'm okay with all of that, but people think just because your birthday is two days before Christmas, they can give you one present on your birthday and none for Christmas," Peter said.

"Aww, poor baby," Claire said. "Let's say for Christmas, I'll give you a real present, and for your birthday, I'll just give you…me."

"Are you wearing your cheerleader outfit?" Peter asked playfully.

"Only if you're wearing your scrubs," Claire smiled.

"Sounds like a plan," Peter said.

They walked down the street, and heard a commotion. There was a sign outside a bar, stating the sound was coming from 'Greg and Jen's Pre-Wedding Party.' Claire read it, and excitedly looked at Peter, and said, "Come on."

"Claire!" Peter argued.

"Come on, it says everyone's welcome, and look, free drinks," Claire said.

Peter gave in, and entered the bar, that occupied a decent crowd. Decent meaning there was still space for them to sit down. But, other than that, it was a hefty party, though Peter had no idea what a Pre-Wedding party was.

Around them were the sounds of bad rock music, and men yelling for more shots. "Hey," someone greeted them. They saw it was a pretty, slim, blonde woman with straight hair and a sweet smile.

"Hi, is this your party?" Claire asked.

"Yeah, I'm Jen," the woman extended her hand, which Claire shook. The empath was surprised the woman didn't even take a second glance at his scar slashing his face.

"I have a question, though. What's a Pre-Wedding Party? Don't you guys have a bachelor party or something?" Peter asked.

"That's what everyone's been telling us, but I love Greg, and I don't see any day that doesn't have him in it," Jen said, smiling.

"Talking about me?" a man interrupted her.

He had a small beard adorning his chin, and tangled brown hair. His eyes were a warm brown as he greeted his guests. Peter expected a young man fresh out of college to match the blonde beauty, a clean-cut boy with wealthy parents that could take care of Jen. But the package of Greg just pointed out that love could be found everywhere and anywhere.

"This is Greg. Greg, this is…" Jen said.

"I'm Peter, and this is my girlfriend, Claire," Peter introduced himself. Claire looked at him, she'd never been introduced as his girlfriend before, and it gave her a glint of happiness.

"Mind if I steal Claire to dance for a while?" Jen asked Peter.

"Go ahead, she'll love it," Peter said, smiling at Claire.

He watched the two women disappear to the crowd, a blonde figure after the other. He watched them dance to some 90s tune he forgot about and tucked away in his college years.

"Jen likes your girl," Greg said to Peter, watching his fiancé. He gave Peter a drink, which he awkwardly held in his hand, since he hardly ever drank.

"Everyone does," Peter said proudly. "Claire, she's just…amazing." Peter couldn't put together words to describe her to the stranger.

"I have to ask. What is she to you? Your best friend? Your girlfriend?" Greg asked.

No, she wasn't any of those, because those sounded so bland, so somewhat normal. And they were anything but normal. Claire was more than that, she was his lover; she was his life.

"She's my everything," Peter finally answered.

"It's the same with me and Jen. It's just, words aren't enough, right?" Greg asked.

"Exactly. I want her to be so much more. Truthfully, she's the love of my life, and I want to spend forever with her," Peter said.

He didn't know why he was opening up to a perfect stranger like this, but something about Greg told him the two men shared similarities. They shared the profound feeling of love with their significant others.

"Then pop the question," Greg clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"What? No, her father would freak. He won't really approve me marrying his daughter," Peter said, thinking of Nathan.

"Why not? You seem like a nice guy, well put together. He should be glad a man like you is in love with his daughter," Greg smiled at his companion.

"It's sort of a long story," Peter sighed. Long story didn't even cover it. It was two years of holding back his feelings; it was 28 long years of lies and deception to cover up his parentage.

"Tell me sometime," Greg said, giving Peter his card. "We're opening a bistro somewhere in New York. You could come around and visit."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Peter said.

"How far apart are you?" Greg asked, after moments of silence.

"What?" Peter asked, sipping his drink.

"How many years apart are you? Me and Jen are nine years apart. People's been saying she's too young for me, but I don't really care about our age difference," Greg said.

"Me and Claire? Ten years apart. I sort of feel guilty about it, because she is so young, and she's been through so much," Peter said, looking back on Claire's life. Homecoming, Sylar, the villains, all before she was even twenty. "I mean, she didn't have a Homecoming, or a prom."

"Then give one to her," Greg said. "Go ask her to dance; I'm sure I can find a song for you two."

"Greg, I don't wanna intrude. This is your party," Peter said.

"It's fine, Peter. Claire deserves her Homecoming night. Go," Greg said.

Peter smiled at the stranger, and did so. He found Claire among all the dancing teenage queens and drunken bartenders. "Mind if I cut in?" Peter asked Jen.

"Go ahead, Peter," Jen smiled at the raven-haired man. The rock song immediately stopped and was replaced with a man's loud voice.

"This song is for Peter and Claire. The Homecoming King and Queen of the night!" Greg said, clapping.

Then came in the soft sounds of a classic. Linger by the Cranberries, Peter always liked the song, and, for this moment, it was perfect. He needed to thank Greg after this. Peter put his right hand around Claire's waist, as she placed her head against his chest.

"You did this, for me?" Claire asked him, looking up.

"I would do anything for you," Peter said. "You know that. Your own Homecoming was more than memorable, but I want to make this one the one where you could feel the love."

"I feel the love," Claire chuckled. "Peter?"

"Yeah?" Peter said, smiling down on her.

"Thank you for this," Claire said.

"You're very welcome, Claire," Peter said, putting his chin on her head.

They swayed in silence for the next few moments, just staying like that, the rest of the crowd completely cut off from their existence. It was just them, now. The only people that mattered were each other.

"You're a pretty good dancer," Claire said randomly. Peter chuckled at Claire's remark, because as far as he knew, he sucked at dancing.

Claire was under the spell of silence, merely content in Peter's arms, listening to their soundtrack. She was thrown aback when she heard Peter mutter words. Words of rhythm came out of Peter's mouth. _You know I'm just a fool for you…you got me wrapped around your finger, do you have to let it linger… _

* * *

_Las Vegas_

Officer Dustin never liked doing this, sure he loved catching the bad guys and putting them where they belonged, but he never liked doing this. They found a body just off the road, their men recognized him as a firefighter, a husband and a father.

He hated knocking on the wooden doors and be greeted with a polite smile, just to see that smile wash away like a tsunami. He hated putting away his hat, to put it on his chest as an apology for their loss. But, here he was, standing in front of another door, with another unknowing family inside.

Officer Dustin knocked on the door, and braced himself. The door opened, revealing a pretty blonde woman dressed in her sleeping attire.

"Officer is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.

"Are you Nicole Sanders?" Dustin asked.

The woman nodded, and a teenage boy appeared. God, this was going to be harder this time. "Ma'am, we found your husband," Dustin said. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Nicole Sanders dropped to the floor, clapping her hand over her mouth, gasping for air. Her hand still wrapped around the knob, as she sobbed against the door. Dustin saw the teenage boy comfort his mother, shedding his own share of tears. Dustin walked away from the tragic scene, and got into his car.

He looked back one more time, as he always did to families like these, and saw a broken family picture. Nicole Sanders screamed in agony, loud enough to wake her neighbors, but Dustin doubted she cared about their anger. She had just lost her husband, and even looking at their loss made Dustin want to quit his job.

* * *

A/N: Thank you! And yes Linger will be on the Soundtrack...Review! PS: The last chapter will be really soon. Actually, it's chapter 23, so get ready for the end!

-Aly


	19. Revelations and Evidence

**A/N: I got a lot of positive feedback on the last chapter! Thanks a lot guys! Because TFT is nearing the end, I'd like to dedicate each chapter to those who helped a long the way.**

**This chapter is to my non-living computer. Thank you for not breaking down so that I could post chapters. **

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

"**Revelations and Evidence" **

Hyde Park, NY

Sunlight poured through their blinds, waking them up for a new day. Peter and Claire slept in one bed, unlike their previous night. Claire had gotten a major turn-on at Greg and Jen's from Peter, and decided 'to hell with it.' One thing led to the other, obviously.

They lied naked underneath their tangled sheets, content enough in each other's arms. Claire stirred in her sleep, with Peter's bare arms around her in a loving embrace. She moved slightly to turn to him, his arms now around her waist. Peter grunted at the movement, and then slowly let himself be embraced by sweet slumber again.

Claire marveled at Peter, at his presence, his handsomeness that completely belonged to her, and the fact she was his, and he was hers. She gently brushed back his hair, to see his face more clearly. She subtly pressed a kiss against his forehead, instantly waking him up.

"Morning, handsome," Claire smiled at him.

She moved forward, and placed a kiss on his lips. She then comfortably put her head on his bare chest, and she could feel Peter stroking her hair gently.

"How'd you sleep?" Peter asked her.

"Wonderfully. I had you by my side, didn't I?" Claire said, breathing against his naked skin. "Oh, and Peter?"

"Yeah?" Peter asked.

"Our first date was amazing," Claire said, smiling.

"It was the first of many to come, my lady," Peter said.

In his mind reeled the memories of last night, not of their love-making, or their sway on the dance floor, but Greg's words to him. The older man pointed out to seize the moment, to make Nathan see that he should be lucky to have his daughter in love with Peter. And, of course, the momentous question-popping.

And it was true was Peter said: he really did want to spend forever with Claire, feel her warm body against his every morning, and have children with her. He didn't even know if they had more children than Hannah, but whatever it was; Peter would take it as a blessing.

All he had to know was that there was already a person that existed, a person that was a result of their love together, of their life. He didn't care if they wouldn't parent any more than Hannah; just knowing they had a daughter together was enough.

"Alright, I'm gonna go wash up," Claire said, leaving his body and wrapping a blanket around her to cover her indecency.

Peter moved to the foot of the bed, putting on his boxers and said, "Wait." Claire turned her blonde hair whipping.

"What?" she asked.

Peter pulled her in by the waist, causing her to land on the bed unceremoniously. He then threw her aback with a kiss. A soul-searing kiss.

"What was that for?" Claire asked, pulling away.

"I love you," Peter said. Claire wanted to say the response of "I love you, too," but Peter cut her off. "I love you, and I want to spend forever with you. I want to have kids with you, and, if I could, I want to build us a house to live in," Peter said.

"What are you saying? Are you proposing?" Claire chuckled.

Peter took her aback by saying, "Why the hell not?"

"Peter, are you serious?" Claire asked.

"I love you, you love me, and we love each other. It's completely natural that we get married. Fine, I don't have a ring right now, but I'll get one for you. So I'm asking you now, why not?" Peter asked her.

Truthfully, Claire couldn't think of any reasons to not be legally bounded to Peter, to be his lawful wedded wife, to have his last name as her own. She couldn't fathom any obstacles they couldn't overcome. Sure, there was Nathan, but he seemed minuscule to her dream of being with Peter forever.

Peter surprised her by getting off the bed, and kneeling on the floor with nothing on but boxers. "So, in a nutshell, I'm asking you, Claire Juliet Bennet," Peter said. "Will you marry me?"

Claire got down on the floor, hugging Peter with her life. "Yes," she said into his embrace. He lifted her in joy, spinning her around like a rag doll.

"So this is it? We're engaged?" Claire asked.

"We're engaged," Peter said, wrapping his arms around her blanket-covered body tighter.

"Should we tell Hannah?" Claire asked.

"Of course we should, she's our daughter," Peter said.

"Alright, then, I'll go shower now," Claire said, and gave Peter one last kiss.

Just as her lips planted themselves on his, the door opened, revealing a now-shocked Nathan Petrelli. And she could see exactly what he saw, his daughter and his thought-to-be brother kissing in nothing more than blankets and boxers. Talk about bad timing.

* * *

Peter could hear the door slamming at him and Claire. He looked at his now-fiancé, who was looking both scared and ashamed at the same time.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him," Peter said. "I'll be back, okay?"

When he started to the door, Claire pulled him by the arm. "We're in this together, right? Whatever happens, right?" she asked.

Peter kept silent and cupped her face in his hands, kissing the top of her forehead. The empath heard another door slamming downstairs, probably the one in Nathan's office, where his brother always used to go for refuge.

The loud sound erupted through the house, and, as he walked down the stairs, he could see Hannah's worried face.

"Dad, what's wrong?" she asked him.

"Nathan saw me and your mom together. I'm guessing he's not very happy," Peter said to her. "Don't worry about a thing, okay? Just go upstairs and keep your mother company." Hannah did so, and walked up the stairs to Claire's room.

Peter tapped on Nathan's glass door, calling out, "Nathan!" as he did. His ex-older brother didn't answer his call, but Peter could hear him pacing inside.

"Nathan, let me in. we can talk about this," Peter said. "It's not what you think." The line seemed overused to Peter; he heard in television movies, in pleas for the cheating man, but it was true.

What Nathan thought was happening was his brother having sex with his daughter, but it wasn't like it. It was merely two souls, newly engaged, completely in love with each other. The door opened, revealing Nathan in the angriest state he'd ever seen him in.

"It's not what I think?" Nathan yelled angrily. Peter went inside the room, seeing Nathan with his arms crossed. "What I think is you're fucking your niece just for the sex! Tell me that's not true!"

"Okay, then, it's not," Peter said, calmly. Calmness was his only weapon right now. Smart-talking was only going to get him so far.

"What?" Nathan asked.

"It's not true because you have no idea how wrong that sentence was!" Peter said. Okay, so much for being calm…Peter thought. "It's not just the sex, okay? I'm completely in love with her."

He let that sink in first, but seeing Nathan's face, he realized that wasn't going to happen. So he stopped Nathan from interrupting because his brother showed every intention to.

"And she's not my niece," Peter said.

"What do you mean she's not your niece? She's my daughter, you're my brother!" Nathan yelled.

"Okay, you were right about the first part about her being your daughter, but, Nathan; I'm not your brother. I never was," Peter said.

"What are you saying? Of course you are, you're a Petrelli!" Nathan said, his eyes fazing, looking all over the place. Moments ago, the fact that got him tongue tied was his brother being together with his daughter, but now, it was worrying to hear that Peter wasn't his brother.

"No, I'm not. I was never a Petrelli, I was born a Linderman, Nathan," Peter said, inching closer to his brother. Nathan was silent, kept under its cruel spell that kept his mouth closed.

"My real brother is Sylar. As much as I hate the fact, he's my brother. But just because you're not my brother biologically, doesn't mean you're not. You're always gonna be the brother that looked out for me, that loved me, that saved my ass my entire life," Peter said, and earned a chuckle from Nathan for his profanity. "I get that you might no approve me being with Claire, but I love her, Nathan. She's the love of my life, and I want to be with her. Even if that means letting you go."

"But what if I don't want you to let go?" Nathan asked.

"Then I won't. It would just mean that you have to keep your mind straight about me being with Claire," Peter said, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder. "What do you say, Nathan?"

The politician looked up to his now ex-baby brother, and grinned his campaign smile. "Good," Peter said, hugging him tightly.

"Pete, if you're adopted, how did I not know about it?" Nathan asked.

"Mom told us that you were in boarding school the first few years of my life. They could've kept me a secret for that long," Peter said, standing next to him.

"And what about Hannah? You told me she was our cousin. Which one is it? Yours or mine?" Nathan asked.

Peter scratched the back of his head awkwardly and answered, "Actually, neither. She's, uh, my future daughter. She came here from nineteen into the future."

"Wow. So that would mean she's my..." Nathan said.

"Yeah, she's your granddaughter. She actually told me she called you Grandpa Nate in the future," Peter smiled.

"Grandpa Nate, huh?" Nathan said. "I could get used to that." Peter and Nathan laughed, feeling the void disappear between them.

The door opened, stopping their merriment. It was Evan with a phone in his hand. "Who is it?" Peter asked him, seriously.

"It's Hiro," Evan answered. "He says we got a lead on Natasha and the gang. And someone's got killed."

* * *

"Fill me in, Hiro," Peter said, as he saw his Japanese friend and his sidekick arrive at the mansion.

Their own Justice League was already assembled. Mia was here, faster than you could say "Run," when they called her at Mohinder's. And Hiro and Ando were the new arrivals.

"Natasha has this device that is connected to a bigger machine. Micah found out it was placed under the school for months, maybe even years," Ando said.

"That was why she was in the school in the first place," Mia said.

"Exactly," Ando said. "So, apparently, after she left you, the Company men ran into her."

"Company men? How were they there?" Claire asked the Japanese duo.

"The school was on surveillance, ever since they caught the video of it. When they saw Natasha, they went there," Hiro explained.

"Their original mission was to find Peter, too, but when they were finished with Natasha, you were already gone," Ando said.

"Okay, continue with the device," Evan said, crossing his arms.

"The Company infiltrated Natasha, and got the device, but Natasha got away. They kept the device in one of their Company facilities," Ando said.

"And where is that?" Hannah asked.

"Odessa, Texas," Hiro answered.

"Back home," Claire said.

"We better get there fast. They could be heading there, too," Mia said.

"Evan told me we lost someone. Who was it? It wasn't Micah, was it?" Peter asked, for the safety of the boy genius.

"No, it was DL. They have found him with his neck snapped, his car ditched off the road," Ando said.

"How are they taking it?" Claire asked.

"Not so well. Niki, well, she hasn't been so good," Ando said, remembering the blonde beauty had retreated to the liquor cabinet the night before.

"Okay, I'll go tell Nathan we're going. Then we'll teleport there," Claire said, disappearing from the crowd.

As she left, Peter couldn't help but look at her, smiling. They were engaged, they were this close to getting married. When all of this was over, they would be bound together. He could hardly contain his happiness. Apparently, it showed.

"Peter, you look very weird," Hiro pointed out.

"Just happy, is all," Peter said.

"Peter, I know you. What are you hiding?" Hiro asked.

"Claire and I," Peter said, looking at his friend. "We're engaged."

"Congratulations Peter!" Hiro said, hugging his friend. "I am very happy for you!"

"What's Hiro happy about?" Mia asked.

Peter looked at her, and smiled. He wanted to tell her himself, but Hiro wouldn't let that happen in the slightest chance. "Peter-kun and Cheerleader Claire are engaged!" the Japanese man said joyously.

"Peter! I'm so happy for you!" Mia said, hugging him.

If this was what Peter got when they told him he was engaged, he would only imagine the suffocation when he was actually married. Or worse, when Hannah was born. Peter shuddered at the thought of being engulfed by friends and family to celebrate his joy. But it was a miniscule fear, besides, he could regenerate from suffocation.

"Okay, everyone ready?" Claire asked, coming back to the team.

"Alright, usual arrangements for teleportation, people," Peter said to his team. His fiancé and daughter held on to him, while the three others managed to keep contact on the Japanese man.

"On three," Peter said to Hiro. "One…two…three!"

The scene around the homely mansion disappeared as they were greeted with a cooling building front. It was white, with the word Primatech is bold yellow. "The building of deceit," Claire said, angrily, remembering all the lies her foster father had told her.

"Come on," Peter said, nudging the six others to follow him. They used the back entrance, and saw hard-working men transporting paper all around them.

"Where's the device?" Peter asked Hiro.

"Three floors down," he answered.

The others started to go the other way, but saw that their leader was behind, holding on to a cardboard box for balance. "Peter, what's wrong?" Claire asked.

"Natasha. She's close," Peter answered. "

We better get going then," Evan said, helping the man up.

Farther down the hall, they saw an old-fashioned elevator, with only metal fences covering them. On the left were blinking lights of numbers. It stated they were now on the Ground level, and that they need to go to the basement to get the device.

"Get inside," Peter said, standing on his own two feet now.

The team of seven did so; Peter pressed on the basement button and quickly phased through to join his group. Dark floors passed them as they went lower and lower into the heart of the Company facility. A blinking light told them they were at the Basement. They opened the metal fences to see that it was just as dark as the others.

"It's here, come on," Hiro said, nudging the others to follow him.

Dark suddenly turned to light, as they came into a hallway, with a vault at the end. Evan remembered the vault he was once kept in for two days in Russia, and said, "I hate vaults."

"Get over it. We need to save the world," Peter said, walking towards the door, but a whoosh of air distracted him.

It was her, the defenseless woman that let him go the first time. The speedster, the one that didn't belong. By reading her mind, he picked up her name.

"Daphne," Peter said.

"I'm not letting you go this time, Peter. They'll know," she said.

"How?" Peter asked.

"Because we're already here," a sinister voice bounced off the walls.

The team turned to see Natasha already there, with Flint, Knox and Sylar by her side. Apparently Natasha was wrong about his brother being weak. The serial killer looked ready to kill.

"Natasha," Peter said, menacingly.

"Why so formal? I'm your mother, aren't I?" Natasha asked, smirking.

"A mother won't scar her son," Peter said.

"A son won't get in the way of his mother's business," Natasha said.

"Out of curiosity, what is your plan?" Claire spoke up.

"That, my dear, is for me to know and for you to find out," Natasha said.

Peter could feel anger boiling in his blood; feel the hatred running through his veins at the very moment. The very sight of seeing Natasha, so calm, so uncaring, pulsated Peter to take action against the woman didn't just give him life, but gave him death, too. So he did. The empath looked up to the woman, and flung her to the wall, starting a chain reaction for the others.

"Go!" Peter yelled to his team.

They didn't need a second call, as he saw them strike at the opposite side. He could hear screaming, battle cries of some sort, and after moments of aggravated fighting, the heroes could say they had something over them. The villains suffered their first casualty of the night: Flint.

The blue-flamed man had gotten in Evan's way, resulting in his death. The teenager's plasma blasts were always known to be deadly, but they had been dodged at some point. So this meant it wasn't just the villain's first casualty of the night, it was Evan's first kill, ever.

"Peter!" Hiro called out to his friend. "Go to the vault. We shall handle this!"

Peter looked at his team, then to the opposition, an evil team of three, and realized it wasn't a fair fight on the villains' side. Daphne was being the sentinel, in charge of guarding the vault.

"Like I said, Peter, I'm not letting you go this time," Daphne said, crossing her arms.

"What do they have over you?" Peter asked.

"They have nothing over me, they just have someone that I know is gonna look over me," Daphne smiled.

"Boyfriend?" Peter smirked.

"He's my best friend," she answered.

"It's Sylar, isn't it?" Peter asked, and Daphne nodded proudly. "Not to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but that man is incapable of feeling. He's incapable of loving even one bit."

"You're wrong!" Daphne yelled, angered.

She genuinely thought the serial killer loved her, she actually believed his deceitful lies, and thought they were friends. Good, she was distracted. The empath took the moment's opportunity to fling the blonde to the wall, her head probably hitting the concrete surface in the process.

"Daphne!" a worried man's voice called out.

It was Sylar. It was his brother; the brother he thought had no heart, no soul. But here he was, shaking the speedster, praying she would wake up to him. But the contact didn't distract Peter from reaching his goal.

Before Sylar could get up and throw out all the shit he wanted to throw at his little brother, Peter phased through the vault, and saw himself surrounding by glass boxes, arranged in a shelf-like manner. It seemed hundreds of artifacts, of souvenirs when the Company infiltrated missions, were placed inside the glass boxes.

But he only sought one item, a metal box that could probably destroy the world as he knew it. There it was: item 144 on the top of it all. Peter smashed the glass that kept it safe, which was probably not such a good idea, since once he crashed his hand through the glass, he heard an alarm. The empath quickly wrapped his hands around the box, and phased out.

"Intruder alert!" the alarm rang, over and over again. It was getting somewhat annoying to hear.

"Thank you, son. You saved us the trouble," Natasha said. "You better get going, something tells me you're about to get caught."

"I'm not giving it to you. I want you to rot back in your cell on Level 5. Where you belong, in my opinion," Peter said, spitefully. "Trapped, caged, and treated like the monster you really are."

"Stop talking about things you don't understand!" Natasha roared at him.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" Peter smirked, and turned back to his team. "Come on, guys."

They ran to the elevator, adorned with metal fences leading to their freedom. Claire looked worried, with the face of urgency on hers.

"What do we do now? Take the box and burn it?" she asked. "Or we do we stay and fight?"

"Yes, if 'we' means just us, not you three," Peter said to the women.

"What? You're crazy! I'm staying with you! I am not leaving you!" Claire said, gripping on his arms tightly. "You are not fighting this battle without us! Just because you're men, doesn't mean you're stronger! Let me stay with you!"

Peter looked at Evan, and nodded a yes. The teenager then kissed his girlfriend, for the last time, he didn't really know, but he prayed it wouldn't be. He then hugged his long-time guardian, Mia, goodbye as the two went into the elevator.

Claire was not so willing to leave the man she loved, her newly-appointed fiancé. "The last time you went, you died, Peter! Doesn't that mean anything?" Claire yelled at him. "You're not telling me you're gonna fight all by yourselves, are you?"

"Claire, I have to," Peter said, cupping her face.

"No, you don't have to! You need me! You need us! And, more importantly, we need you, Peter. We need all of you, to live," Claire said. "If you leave, it's an unresolved promise, Peter!"

"I love you," Peter said, kissing her.

Mia and Hannah pulled Claire into the elevator, still crying. Evan and Hiro closed up the metal fences, and sent the women upstairs. Peter could hear Claire's cries echoing, and wafting around him like the sense of urgency: "Peter, no! No, Peter, no! Let me go! Please!" It seemed he could also hear his heart breaking, too.

"Do you really think that was a good idea, Pete?" Evan asked, thinking of the future daughter.

Peter didn't answer, merely looked strong, and led the three men to the hallway where the villains were standing. Peter Petrelli had expected a few moments of struggling before anyone would become a casualty, but it seemed Natasha never liked slowing time down.

The elderly woman, the true face of evil, had a gun pointed to the team, but she wasn't aiming at her son, or the Japanese hero, she was aiming at Ando. The gunshot fired, fast and deathly, but it seemed it slowed down in Peter's eyes. It slowed down, but Peter still didn't do anything to stop it. And before he knew it, he had lost yet another friend.

Ando fell to the floor, with his blood-soaked shirt in all, and landed straight in Hiro's arms. "Hiro, get her," Ando said, choking out probably his last few words.

"No, I am not leaving you," Hiro said, speaking in Japanese now. "We do not leave each other. It is how we roll."

* * *

The men returned back to the refuge of the Petrelli Mansion, with blood-soaked shirts, and a dead body in their arms.

"Oh my God," Claire gasped, covering her mouth with her right hand. The hollow doll of Ando Masahashi was cradled in his best friend's arm.

"Is there anywhere I can put him?" Hiro asked.

"Of course," Mia said, leading him to the back room that occupied an unused bed he could lay Ando down.

Hannah and Evan reunited happily, much like an army reuniting with her soldier of a husband. Peter never thought he could envy his daughter's relationship, because he and Claire didn't reconcile so easily.

"I know you're angry at me, Claire," Peter said to her.

"I'm more than angry, Peter! I'm furious! If you haven't seen, Ando died!" Claire yelled at him.

"I know, I know. I was stupid for letting you go," Peter said. "But I'm not making that mistake again. I can't live without you, Claire."

"I'm not forgiving you that easily," Claire said. "But at least you got the device, right?"

The metal box in question was in Peter's hands, nestled comfortably. "Not exactly," Peter said.

"What do you mean?" Claire asked.

"This box was a trap. Sure, the Company got the device, but we just got the wrong packaging," Peter explained.

Hiro and Mia reappeared from the back room, Hiro looking solemn as ever. But he wasn't up for everyone's apologizes; all he wanted to do now was to get back at the woman who killed his best friend.

The gang of seven circled around the table where Peter opened the box. Inside, were files, documents and schematics. Tattered pages were at the side, while others were arranged neatly.

"I haven't had the pleasure of reading all of this. Hopefully, it's a clue about what they're doing next," Peter said. He opened one of the many schematics, revealing a blueprint of a largely scaled machine.

"My guesses are, this is the machine the device is used for," Peter said.

"Look at that, it's huge," Hannah said.

"Any ideas what it's used for?" Evan asked the group.

"It seems Natasha isn't that obvious. Just a few notes. Targeting, evolved humans, genetic make-up," Claire said, ruffling around the notes. "Something tells me the machine is used for targeting."

"All these tell us is that metahumans have different genetic make-up, and is the second type of human. So, basically, if you wanted to investigate on the humans living on Earth as a whole, there would be two species. The humans, and us, the metahumans," Hannah said.

"Are you saying this machine is going to be used for _genocide_?" Peter said, incredulous.

"Natasha has reached another level of evil," Claire said.

"Which race, is it, then? Us or the humans?" Evan asked.

"Look at this. Demented notes, saying 'we're the ones who are special'," Claire showed them the piece of paper, with those few words and the strange symbol Hiro recognized as Godsend.

"That would mean she's going to destroy the humans. All of them," Peter said.

"This never happened," Hannah muttered under her breath.

"What?" Evan asked. "This, genocide, this never happened in the future. The first thing they did was kill government men, not eliminating the human race from the planet," Hannah said.

"We changed the future," Hiro said. "Just not in the good way."

"Any ideas when the world is coming to an end?" Evan asked, nervous.

"210908," Peter said, looking at a document.

"That's the day after tomorrow," Mia said.

Peter looked at them, all of them, and realized all the people that were going to pay. Heidi, for one, and his nephews, if they weren't evolved humans. Sure, he was safe, but that didn't make him any more guilty for living when others were going to die in two days time. The people that walked down the streets, the normals, they were going to die.

"We need to stop it," Peter said.

* * *

A/N: DUN DUN DUN... The plot thickens, my fair readers! Read then review!

-Aly


	20. Our Lasts

**A/N: Early chapter for an early Christmas present for all! Hope you like it! There's a lot of somewhat rambling in this chapter. But, hey, what can you do? **

**thron606:** I sent a review reply. If you cannot access your e-mail for some reason, this is why: Ando was shot with Restrain. If you remember, Restrain can kill even a regenerative person. No hope in Ando regenerating from Claire's blood. Sorry.

**faithfulwriter: **I also sent a review reply. Yes, I'm well aware now that you gave me your e-mail address, I just forgot. I sent a somewhat lengthy message, because, apparently, I tend to ramble a little. Happy Holidays, Dani!

This chapter is to my brain. I never cease to amaze myself with my wit and awesomeness.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"**Our Lasts"**

**If only you saw me when I was still alive, when I was actually happy, when I wasn't in doubt. But here you are, I can see you, mourning over my grave. And you're still running, from the guilt, from the doubt, but I can see you. I sometimes wish you could see me, so you would stop. **

Peter Petrelli didn't sleep, but the Lord knew he tried to. Claire slept by his side, and usually, he fell asleep just as she did, but, this time, he didn't. Peter was too scared, too nervous probably, of the nearing apocalypse to the human race.

He couldn't just wrap his arms around his Claire, and not think about it, because he was supposed to be the hero in all of this. He couldn't just kiss Claire goodnight, see her fall to slumber, and do the same. He knew he couldn't, because he was the hero, but he wasn't always.

When he was a kid, shy of ten years old, he was nothing more than the dreamy boy looking out the window, remembering the scenes from the newest Superman, or he was just Nathan Petrelli's weird little kid brother. It seemed like the latter was a protective shield against bullies, because everyone knew Nathan was the boss, and they knew not to mess with his kid brother whenever he was around. But when he wasn't around, Peter got picked on, and got teased that he dressed up as Superman for the Halloween party, when everyone else had already left the comic-superhero phase.

When he grew up, he was the nurse, the caretaker of sorts, but, no matter what, he was still the dreamy boy with glassy look in his eyes. But soon, he became a hero, Claire Bennet's at first, and then he and Nathan saved New York City.

And now, he was the counterpart to Sylar, no longer Nathan's kid brother, and, perhaps it was the most important, he was the fiancé of Claire Bennet, and the father of an amazing girl. Out of all his names, he wore the latter two with utmost pride.

Peter took his arm away from Claire's and pressed a kiss against her soft, blonde hair. He put on his jeans and a shirt, followed by his jacket. He then tried to walk downstairs, undetected by any Petrelli family members, and succeeded. The empath walked out, and saw the midnight moon hovering over him like a lucky amulet.

He didn't exactly know what he was doing, but he was sure he wanted something to give Claire. In less than 48 hours, everything would change, for the good or for the bad, and Peter at least owed it to her to give her a last present before everything.

A book? Peter asked himself, as he passed a quaint book shop. No, what good was sinking yourself in fictional worries when they already had a real one in spare? No, none of these things were good, nothing would say 'I love you' to Claire. But, then he saw it. The glitter in the distance: the jeweler's.

He would get Claire a ring, like he promised, and get it engraved with words of love. He opened the door to the jeweler's, and saw a man behind the counter, with glasses. He had brown hair, streaked with gray, a sign of getting old. He seemed like the kind of person who would give kids extra candy on Halloween. Around him were solid gems, and golden clocks ticking away the time. It reminded him of Sylar, for some reason.

"Hello, there, son," the man said. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for a ring for my-" Peter said.

"Girlfriend?" the man asked.

"Actually, my fiancé. I proposed without a ring," Peter smiled. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Not really, I'm sure you love her all the same," the man said.

"Oh, I do," Peter said, sitting down at one of the chairs in front of the counter.

"Tell me about her," the man said. "

I should really just look for the ring," Peter said.

"Don't. You can only imagine how many times I've picked out the perfect couple, after they've told me their story," the man smiled. "It's sort of a gift."

"I understand," Peter said. "Her name is Claire; she used to be a cheerleader. We, uh, met at Homecoming."

"High school sweetheart?" the man asked.

"Not exactly. We're 10 years apart," Peter chuckled.

"How did that happen?" the man laughed.

"My niece, uh, Hannah, she went to the same school as Claire, and when I was dropping her off at the school, I saw Claire on the second floor. It was the edge of the building, and a bully was about to push her off. Luckily, I caught her in time," Peter said. Replaying the story, in his head, he seemed it was a nice way for them to meet, if it was real.

"You're a bonafide hero, son," the man laughed.

"She's saved me more times than I can count. We've been through a lot, and I'm really happy that here we are, two years later, engaged. And we're actually expecting," Peter smiled. He had no idea if that was true, but it had to be. Hannah was there, wasn't she?

"Here, how does this look?" the man asked, taking a ring to show Peter.

"You really do have a gift. It's perfect," Peter said.

"Do you want it engraved?" the man asked.

"You know what? Yes, I do," Peter said. He took out a piece of paper, and wrote down a meaningful yet short sentence.

"Perfect," the man said.

"I'll be back to pick it up later."

"Out of curiosity, what is your name?" the man asked as Peter started to the door.

"Peter. Peter Petrelli. What's yours?" Peter asked.

"John Carver," the man said.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Carver," the empath smiled.

"Same to you, Peter," John said.

* * *

Claire forced her lids to open, a seemingly easy task to do, if it wasn't for the blinding light welcoming her to new morning. Her companion was right there by her side, ready to abide any silly girl-in-love rules.

Peter was so good to her, something she always took for granted, and so loving to her, even before they got together. Those two years with him were heaven, always knowing that she had to come home, because there was someone wanting her company.

It was nice having someone to come home to, someone who could hug her hello, a lingering embrace that always lasted a little too long in the eyes of the Petrellis. But she was grateful, that she could always wake Peter up when she couldn't sleep, and he would abide.

They would either stay up all night, or Claire would fall asleep on Peter's lap when her eyes got heavy. Claire turned her body and saw him. Peter looked wide and awake; a look in his eyes told her he was awake long before the morning was.

"Hi," she said to him, merely a breath of hello.

"Hi," Peter said, putting a kiss on his fiancé's lips.

"You don't look so good," Claire said, looking at his tired eyes and his pale face.

"It's the nerves, Claire, nothing to worry about," Peter said, smiling.

"Right. The nerves," Claire said, remembering what was ahead on their itinerary. Genocide, she remembered, was what was coming ahead.

"Do you think we can do it?" Claire asked, looking seriously at Peter.

"I know we can. I can't let her go through with all of this," Peter said. "All those lives…"

Claire could see the empathic Peter ready to shine through, the Peter she first knew, the Peter she fell in love with. It wasn't that his empathy had disappeared; it was merely clouded with nervousness, doubt, and the intent of being a hero.

Claire let her hands put themselves comfortably on his chest, covered with his favorite, and only, polo shirt. Peter seemed to forget about his doubt, and looked at Claire, putting on a smile she knew was fake, a ruse to distract her from seeing him in broken form.

"I'm thinking about taking you and Hannah out, the whole family. For the first time," Peter played with her fingers.

"That seems nice," Claire smiled at him.

"I was just thinking. She's our daughter, and we don't even know her," Peter said.

"You have her entire life to get to know her, Peter," Claire said. "Who knows? Maybe I'm pregnant now."

Peter looked at her, shocked, but saw her playful face. Yes, he told Mr. Carver Claire might be expecting, but he never really faced the reality. How would he adapt to the change? He loved Hannah, and could take care of her, but she was eighteen years old now, not a little infant. How would he react to seeing this little bundle of miracle escape her mother, his soon-to-be wife, knowing she was his, and he was responsible for a human life?

He could see his future, playing out like a black and white film. It was as if someone was taping his life, and heard a voice behind the imaginary camera. Claire was there, holding Hannah's little hand, and Peter was cradling his baby girl. His daughter is nothing more than a little soul, dressed in a cutesy dress.

"Alright, say hi to the camera!" the person behind the camera said.

It's his future, not a dream, he actually seeing it, his future. This was his future, with a daughter, a wife, and someone that loved him enough to record the moment.

"Oops, we forgot Michael!" the voice said.

In came a boy, tufts of dark hair on his head. He was the same age as Hannah, and looked like her…did Hannah have a twin?

"Come on, Michael, come to Mommy!" Claire said, opening her arms to welcome her son.

"Okay, Petrelli family, ready to say goodbye to the camera?" the voice behind the camera said.

The voice seemed familiar, like an angel of his past. Someone he knew, someone he loved once, a lifetime ago. 26 years ago, to be exact. The identity of the cameraman was revealed, as he saw his future kids' wave to the camera goodbye. Peter said the name himself, something that would haunt him forever: "Thanks, man. You're the best, Sylar."

* * *

Hiro was welcome at the Petrelli Mansion, especially after the death of his best friend. Everyone seemed to treat him like broken pillars of a foundation, ready to crash down in a second. He had hoped Peter and Claire, of all people, after their own phases of being fragile glass teacups, would treat him different, but, alas, they didn't.

Instead, the pair of lovers that brought him comfort was Hannah and Evan. They were more fun, he had to give them that, and they didn't treat him like the others did. Both knew what it was like to lose someone close to them, Evan being his parents, and Hannah, as she confided to the Japanese man, lost her brother.

They once were broken, like him, but both ran away before they got treated like he did. Hannah ran to the past, to fix everything, and Evan literally ran away. The orphanage got word of him, and his later years were filled with being the good little religious boy.

"I thought you didn't believe in God," Hannah said to him.

"I don't, Hannie. Doesn't mean they didn't want me to," Evan said in reply.

"What do you remember? Of your parents, I mean," Hiro asked.

Hannah looked nervously to her boyfriend, knowing he wasn't that good at personal questions, but was surprised when she saw his mouth open, revealing an answer in return.

"Not a lot. But I remember the good times. Birthdays, Halloween, Christmas," Evan said.

"Do you miss them?" Hiro asked.

"Yeah, I miss them," Evan said, head held low for his girlfriend.

He thought she might see him as a boy for the first time. Not a vigilante, not a sarcastic mouthed teenager, but for the boy he always was inside. The boy whose parents sang him when he slept, the boy whose favorite present on Christmas was a red toy truck, because his own father was a firefighter, the boy who laughed at the jokes he would soon make.

But Hannah did the complete opposite; she gave him a subtle kiss, and pulled away with an all-knowing smile. Evan left to help his girlfriend's father in the kitchen, leaving Hannah and Hiro alone to talk.

"Oh, I just remembered," Hannah said, taking out something from her pocket. "Niki sent over the pictures we took. Thought you might like to see them."

Hannah handed over said photos, of their memories, to Hiro. She saw him leaf through them, as if none bear the significance he needed them to have, until he stopped at one picture. He showed it to her, the family picture of him and Ando.

"It was a very nice idea for you to take these pictures, Hana," Hiro said.

Hannah smiled at how he said her name, knowing, when properly said in Japanese, it meant flower, and she was anything but.

"It came in handy, don't you think? Two of us have died already, and we need to be reminded how special they were, what they meant to us," Hannah said, fingering both DL and Ando's faces in the group picture. "Who are we to kid that none of us are going to die? Anything can happen when you're dealing with the villains. Especially when Natasha's leading the charge."

"I do not need a picture to remember you, Hana. I'll remember you always," Hiro said to her. A part of her just wanted to say endless 'aww's to the Japanese man, but she knew it was the naïve part of her.

"I'll remember you, too, Hiro. I mean, who else can make me laugh like you?" Hannah said, smiling at him. "Just because Ando's gone, doesn't mean you don't have a family. You have one, and you're always welcome here with us. I want you to know that, okay?" She hugged him in an embrace and left the scene, leaving Hiro to linger.

* * *

Peter decided not to tell Claire about his-no_, their_- future; he didn't want her to worry that his serial killer brother was going to be an actual part of the family. But that didn't mean that he wasn't going to tell his daughter.

Sure, she might not know why Sylar of all people was behind the camera, but she would sure as hell know whether or not she had a twin brother. The family of three, made up of an ex-cheerleader, an empath and their dysfunctional relationship with their future daughter were going out.

Peter assured Claire it wasn't a fancy function, like one of Nathan's fundraisers, but apparently it was fancy enough for Claire to have a rampage through her closet and ask Peter to teleport Niki to help her. Peter himself wasn't having problems; he knew he had a back-up tux hidden behind his own closet.

Peter knocked on the door of his daughter's room, and someone opened it. He knew it was supposed to be Hannah, but it wasn't. This wasn't his daughter; it was someone much worldlier, so much more beautiful. She had told him she was going to try out a couple of dresses from Claire, and Peter had nodded with no questions asked. But he was willing to ask questions now.

Black, straight hair cascaded to her back, as the rest of her body was wrapped with a black dress. It seemed like Hannah-he couldn't mistake those green eyes-but it was like a much more beautiful Hannah. Her boyfriend was just as agape as her father was, sitting on the foot of the bed.

"How do I look?" Hannah asked, looking awkward in a dress.

Truthfully, she hadn't worn a dress ever since she was eight, and that was when frills were in. The dress was simple, comfortable, it clung to her body like a snake, but yes, it was a dress.

"Hannah, you look beautiful," Peter said. "Is that really my daughter under that?"

"Better believe it, Dad," Hannah smiled.

"Evan, can you leave us for a while? I wanna talk to Hannah for a while," Peter said to the brown-haired teenager.

"Right aye, sir," Evan smiled, and left his girlfriend with a kiss on her cheek before he disappeared.

"What is it?" Hannah asked, sitting down on the chair opposite him.

"I had a dream, about the future," Peter began. "And I saw a boy. About your age. Hannah, did you have a twin brother?"

Hannah sighed, and thought to herself this was probably going to happen; she couldn't hide the fact she had a brother for long. She'd always thought she wanted it to be a surprise for her mother.

"Don't worry, Claire doesn't know," Peter saying, reading her thoughts. "She doesn't need to, if that's what you want. But you've gotta tell me."

"Yes, I had a brother. A twin brother. Guess it's something hereditary," Hannah said.

Peter was confused at first, and remembered that him and Sylar were twins. But the fact that he was even remotely related to him, that his blood ran to through his, too, was almost enough to send him to boiling point.

"What happened to him? Why didn't you tell us about it?" Peter asked.

"He died," Hannah said. She always wanted to be strong, especially when she told people about her brother, but ever since his little 'visit' in Russia, it was too hard. She kept remembering what it was like, talking to him, listening to him, too, and just being with him.

"Hannah, I'm so sorry," Peter said, hugging his daughter and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"Don't be. You'll be able to get to know him his entire life," Hannah said.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Well, Mom could be pregnant now," Hannah explained. Yeah, that truth slapped his face a few hours ago, but, damn, it was still a big deal.

Two little people were about to grow inside of her, their children. He was going to be father. Yes, he already was a father to an eighteen year old girl, but what was it going to be when tiny fingers latched themselves on the tip of his finger, knowing that he helped making such a beautiful baby? He was going to be a father, he could start over, and he could make Hannah love him from top down.

"What's your full name?" Peter asked Hannah. "So that naming the kids will be a lot easier."

"Hannah Sarah," Hannah answered. "Hannah means beauty, and Sarah means princess."

"Beautiful princess," Peter said. "It fits."

"No, it doesn't. I'm not beautiful, and I'm not a princess," Hannah looked down.

"You're more beautiful than you give yourself credit for," Peter said to her. He looked to his watch, and realized it was time to get ready.

He started to the door, but turned and asked one last question, "What about your brother?"

Hannah looked back up to her father and answered, "Michael. Michael Gabriel."

* * *

Damn. Sylar was going to be a part of his family, wasn't he? The evidence was all there, the camera, the middle name for his son. A mass murderer was going to be accepted into his family. _Maybe he turns good_, a part of him said. _And I forgive him._ What if it's just a ploy? To get close to his family, to Claire? He asked himself. Wasn't it Sylar that helped get Peter and Claire together, by running rampage around the school looking for that one special cheerleader?

But that part of him, dominant and empathic, said if Sylar was willing enough to ask for forgiveness, or redemption, Peter was going to let him. Some part of him might still love his brother, because it seemed that it was distinct memory in his memory, of the suburban home they shared together, as brothers. And that part of him, no matter, would still forgive his brother for his sins. That was, if Sylar wanted forgiveness.

These were the thoughts swimming through Peter Petrelli's head when he got out of their cab and were greeted by the warm glow of a restaurant. "Peter, you okay?" Claire asked her fiancé.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking," Peter said, knowing at that very moment that Claire was pregnant. With his children. The thought itself was monumental.

They stepped inside the restaurant. It seemed in the middle of high and low class. They weren't underdressed, or over, they fitted right in within the crowd. The waitress, redheaded, who reminded Peter of Jen, looked strangely from the two girls, about the same age, at Peter's side, to the slashing scar on his face. The thoughts that could've erupted in her head…

"This way," the waitress said, and led them to a booth, just for them.

"This looks great, Dad," Hannah said to him.

"Anything for you two," Peter smiled at the women. Claire sat next to him, while Hannah was comfortably seated opposite them, her green eyes skimming the menu now.

Peter realized he had been zoning out a lot these past few days, especially in the last few hours, with the revelation of Sylar being accepted and all. And he decided, for tonight, there would be no daydreaming, or thinking of what would happen, or what did happen. On his mind now, was what was happening right then, with the two women most important in his life.

"Anything looking good?" he asked Claire, putting his hand over hers under the table. It seemed that happened much too often, before they found out they were related, and after when they found the exact opposite.

"I like the chicken," Claire looked up to him, as if for an answer of an approval.

"Sounds good," Peter said, and then looked over to his daughter. "Hannah?"

"I have no idea," Hannah smiled. "I haven't had this kind of dinner in, well, ever."

"I'll order for you," Claire said, absent-mindedly, as if it didn't mean anything.

They ordered, with the same redheaded waitress, still staring at Peter's evident scar. He had to endure the stares for the rest of his life, probably. Damn Natasha. They talked, before and after the food arrived, mindless chatter, talking about the future, their significant others.

They seemed more like friends than like family, especially to onlookers, who saw their polite smiles, as if they were nothing but acquaintances. Sure, it looked like it, but they cared for each other more than they knew. Their eyes would follow, but their path was for them only.

Hannah excused herself, to go to the bathroom, and Peter clutched on Claire's hand for her attention.

"I never told you this, but, damn, we made one hell of a kid," Peter smiled at her.

Claire laughed at his comment, and said, "We can raise to be more awesome than she already is."

"So, so true," Peter chuckled.

"Plus, if we get a son," Claire said, and Peter gulped trying to conceal the fact they _would_ have a son. "It'd be a perfect family picture, don't you think? Hannah would be a daddy's girl, and our boy would be a momma's boy."

"No way," Peter said. "Our boy's gonna be a man. I'll rough him up."

"You wouldn't," Claire said, glaring at him.

"There are gonna be a lot of people with us when our children get born," Peter said. "Think about it. Nathan's gonna be there, of course. Niki, Micah, Molly, Mohinder, our team. I think we should invite Greg and Jen, too. They're fun people."

"Our kids are gonna be so loved," Claire said.

"They already are," Peter said, kissing her forehead. Hannah appeared again, with a smile on her face, and straightening up her purse. They got to talking again, more chatter, with more information regarding the other.

* * *

"_Claire!" he called out, but she didn't answer. She just stood there, looking nowhere in particular. Her attire was blood-soaked, and she looked tired, sick, a phase he never saw her in. she was never sick, she was indestructible. Something was wrong. _

_Suddenly, out of nowhere, she started screaming, just standing there and screaming her lungs out. They were inside the school, where it once a hospital where Peter blew his first breath, and, once, his last. He wondered if it was going to be the same this time, too. _

_But his selfish thoughts were thrown out the window, as Claire's screams echoed, and bounced off the walls. He didn't realize there were people watching, but none made a move to the screaming blonde. Claire seemed to be holding on to stomach, grasping it for dear life, and was soon pleading please to the audience watching her agony. It was their children she was crying about. Someone must've been threatening their children, Hannah, and Michael. _

"_Claire?" he called out once again, and this time she responded. _

_She turned her head and made a smile curve on her lips. He smiled back, knowing it was all going to be okay now. They were going home now, they were together. But all those expectations flew out the window, when Claire collapsed on the floor. _

"_Claire?" Peter ran towards her, and cradled her in his arms. "Come on, Claire, don't do this to me. I love you." But too late, she was already gone, on her face the shadow of her forgotten smile._

Peter woke up, gasping for air. _It was just a dream_, Peter thought, _a horrible dream_. It was just a dream, because there Claire was, covered in blankets from chin down, beautiful as ever. But the thought still rattled his brain: what if that happened? What if Claire died? He couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, and would probably live through like a walking shadow.

Or worse, what if _he_ died? Who would Claire have? Who would take care of her, love her so unconditionally? Claire turned ever so slightly in her position, causing Peter look at her, the glow of her beauty, of her pureness like holy water.

There was no other for him, no one who could make him laugh that much, no one who could make him comfortable in his own skin, no one who, as corny as it sounded, completed him. Claire was, inevitably, his soulmate. If he was to depart the world, and leave her to feel the emptiness he would feel if she were to go, she needed to know just how much she meant to him.

Peter remembered the ring he got from John Carver's, the one with the engraving for Claire. _Forever yours, your hero_, it said. It fitted, in his opinion, because he was, forever hers, and, as he remembered their jail cell incident, 'totally her hero.' He almost chuckled at how long ago that was, it seemed like a lifetime ago, where he was still the dreamer who wanted nothing more than to fly.

It was unexpected; to know that the cheerleader he saved at Homecoming grew up. Grew up to be this extraordinary woman, this angel God gave him, this heroine sleeping next to him. She was miles away from the helpless girl he first saw in Isaac's paintings, she'd been through so much, for these past few years. A part of him admired her, for her courage, her bravery to go through all the obstacles, and still come home, safe and sound, to him, and the other part wanted that kind of attitude. To kick ass and take names without feeling remorse.

But Peter knew that no matter what, his mission was always the same. Time would fly, the players would change, the game might be upgraded to a more dangerous state, but his mission, his_ heart_ would be true to one single rule: Save the cheerleader, save the world.

Peter kissed the tip of her shoulder, and Claire groaned in her sleep. "I love you," Peter said, knowing she wouldn't hear him. "I love you so much you don't even know. I'm sorry for all the things I did, or didn't do. Whatever it is, I never meant to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I want forever with you."

It was a confession, a breathe that couldn't be heard when the damsel was awake. If he had to leave, he knew, more than ever, that his love for Claire was enough. The hand of God played with their fates, but inevitably sent them back together again. His love, their love for each other, was enough.

* * *

A/N: I really hope you like it! Expect the next chapter on the weekend sometime. **Also: Thanks all for helping me reach 100 reviews! You made me dance with glee**. Enjoy your holidays, everyone!

-Aly


	21. Prayer

**A/N: A Happy 2009 Present! OK, so maybe most of you aren't at the same time zone as me, just know we're merely hours away from a New Year! I plan on keeping my resolutions this year, be a better student, the normal crap. I hoped to finish TFT by the end of the year, but apparently no. But hopefully you guys will enjoy this chapter!**

**This chapter is to my awesome Mom, who handled my writing rants and outbursts at abnormal times. Lots of Love. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"**Prayer"**

**How far have we come, from being the innocent baby carved by their hands, to being crossed between sinner and saint? Are we angels, sent by Gabriel's own hand, or are we demons, our faces clouded with doubt and depression. It's merely a choice He's given us. But most choose to not. We stand in the middle, in the middle of black and white; we're the ones who are grey. **

It was their last day; their last hours were ticking away on their glass-paned clocks. They all felt it, like a shadow was hovering over them, just threatening to ruin, break them into shattered pieces. Hannah already had so much on her plate, and genocide topped it off like an apocalyptic ice-cream at the side.

Her life was screwed. Sure, she had the nice little perks at the end of the day: the good boyfriend, the nice parents, but she couldn't just ignore all the bad things. And by the second, they were piling up.

She was sitting on the couch, leaning on Evan opposite Molly Walker. The House of M (the residents of the mansion playfully dubbed Mia, Mohinder and Molly that) were invited to the mansion by Peter. They all heard about the genocide news, and wanted nothing more than spend the hours with their soldiers.

Hannah's father decided to bring only a team of four into battlefield, Hannah, Evan, Claire and himself. Hiro considered him honorable at the least, but she knew he wanted nothing more than to fight side by side with his friends. Mia seemed agitated, Hannah knew how much she cared about her father, and, no doubt, she would take Claire's place in the play of army wife.

The shadow was still hovering, and it would keep watching over them until day would call dusk, and the plan would be in motion. It was like a hunter, its scrutinizing eyes watching its prey until its master, Natasha, would whip it off to strike.

Hannah's life was like this, never ending worry for her family, for herself, she was born a soldier. And, damn it all, if she was going to die, she was going to die a damn soldier, fighting side by side with the people who loved her. Hours passed, the ticking ceased to be momentous anymore. Worry ceased to be an issue; they all felt it no doubt.

"Hey, Nathan," Peter said to his brother.

Nathan was still shaken by the genocide news, and decided to take the day off to spend some extra time with his wife. Heidi didn't complain, but shot inquisitive looks to Peter, wondering if he knew anything about her husband's sudden 180. His brother didn't don his usual suit; in fact he dressed casual, and looked out of place in it. Peter hadn't seen his brother in-God forbid-jeans ever since his teenage years.

"Hey, there, Pete," Nathan said, sipping his drink. Heidi was upstairs, and, since it was a weekend, so were the boys. Today was the first time in a long time Nathan would be a family man. Hopefully, after this incident was over, it would be the first of many to come.

"Are you ready? It's almost dark," Nathan said, just threatening to break Peter's self confidence to shreds.

"I think so," Peter said.

"This is not the time to be fragile, Pete," Nathan said, putting on his stern face. "An entire race is counting on you for, well, survival."

"Thanks," Peter said sarcastically.

"I know you're trying to be honorable right now, but don't even think about it," Nathan said. Was it possible to adapt mind-reading to someone you shared your entire life with? With Nathan, it was always possible.

"Don't even think about it. There are people who need you here. And as much I think it's weird, you got your fiancé waiting for you," Nathan said, still trying to get in his mind his brother was his ex-brother, and he would soon be son-in-law instead of a brother. Peter's heart, a hero's, a dreamer's, was now Claire's. "Get out there, alive, and have a family. It's what you always wanted, right?"

Yeah, it was what he always wanted: a family. With Claire as his wife, it was he always wanted. In the beginning, it was nothing but a fantasy, Claire being his niece, and no one even remotely wanting the same things he did. He wanted to settle down, for God's sake, not have numerous one-night stands with women who looked at him like he was a box of Hershey's.

Claire had expressed her longing for a family one time, a year ago, saying she wanted the son first, and then her second would be a daughter. "The perfect family," she had said. "All I need is a husband, and a few years under my belt."

"Any man would be lucky to be your husband, Claire," Peter had said. Any man meaning him, especially him, but he knew, then, not him, never him. A man down the street had more hope in being the father of Claire's children, Peter had thought. But now, as corny as it sounded, his dream would come true.

"Thanks," Peter said, hugging his brother. "If you can believe me now, if I die, it won't be by choice. You're right. I have too many people counting on me to come back."

At that, he looked to Claire, beautiful as ever, talking to Hiro. He needed to come back, as much as he wanted to be the hero, sacrificing himself to be a martyr for the people he loved, he wanted more to be with the people, rather than dying for them. Claire caught him staring, and smiled at him, her mouth curving to a real smile. Peter grinned back and thought it was amazing how only Claire could make him smile, especially at a time like this.

* * *

"I love you," Evan whispered into her ear.

They were in bed, cherishing the last few minutes they had before they went into battlefield. Dark was coming, creeping up to them, catching up to them, telling them it was time. Time to let go of their dreams and face the dim reality Natasha and her comrades were throwing them.

Light was falling, but Hannah finally felt safe in Evan's arms. He rolled off of her, trying to catch his breath.

"I love you, too," Hannah said, chuckling at what she did to him.

It wasn't their first time, but it was a big possibility it was their last (Look, Ma! No protection!). If it was destiny, then it was. She put her hand on his bare chest, feeling it rise only to fall again when he exhaled.

Evan was a handsome boy, with that brown hair that she could scruff like a little boy's, and those eyes. They weren't anything spectacular to the outside world, maybe it was just her, but something about them made her feel safe. Maybe corny love lines did run in the family.

"I think it's time to go," Hannah said.

"I wish I could stay," Evan said, kissing her fingers. "Just stay right here, with you."

"Me, too," Hannah said to him. "But the world's got another plan for us. And that plan is to save a race from extinction."

"Oh, goody," Evan said.

Hannah could see his nervousness shining through, that part of him that he always put a protective shield over so she wouldn't see it. "Come on, get dressed," Hannah said, throwing him his jeans.

She herself put on her undergarments, and pulled on a new t-shirt from the closet. They went downstairs, where Peter and Claire were already situated. They looked ready to leave, and so did the House of M, plus Hiro.

Nathan and Heidi stood in the background, stiff and unaware, Heidi completely oblivious to what was going on, and not knowing where her stepdaughter and brother-in-law were going to make it out alive or not. Hannah could see them from the staircase, so fragile the scene that she was afraid she was going to be the catalyst to break it.

"Dad?" Hannah called out for attention. Peter turned his head, and gave a soft smile to his daughter.

"Come on, Hannah," he said. They said their goodbyes, maybe their last ones, but they were saying their goodbyes. They never flinched, knowing it would do none of them good to cry, or to break. They didn't need to.

* * *

Her machine was like a roaring animal, and, by the second, its hunger was overtaking his obedience by speeds. She tamed it, soothed it until it was finally time to strike at the world that was not ready for their threat just yet.

Natasha walked calmly to her contraption, the little mechanical beauty she claimed as her own. She led her and her comrades deeper and deeper inside their cave of secrets until they were engulfed by nothing by darkness in a space that looked mischievously like a tunnel.

All four of them stood in front of the machine, its lights blinking with excitement for the plan to be in motion. Daphne seemed to whimper at the sheer size of the machine, and realized the one in Russia was probably a prototype, this was the real thing. And it would be the _destructive_ real thing.

Sylar glanced from his mother; to the machine she called her own blood, sweat and tears. He wondered if Natasha could spite her own bitterness and generate tears from actual feelings. Probably not, he concluded.

Knox, on the other hand, looked like a weathered soldier. He stood by their leader, arms crossed with his expression saying nothing at all. The black man had a gun in his jacket pocket, the bulge meant to give out fear to the opposite side. They already killed with Restrain, who were they to say they weren't going to do it again?

Sylar and Daphne were given similar guns, its silver shone to kill the enemy. Emotionless, Knox and Natasha were the ringleaders of their little group but Sylar and Daphne actually brought their feelings along with them, like heavy luggage that would soon get lost in the airport.

Who would think this was where Sylar, of all people, would end up? Not actually choosing a side, staying on one out of obligation, and not sure where he actually belonged. If he ran now, he would leave Daphne behind, and the man owed everything he had, his last thread of humanity, to her.

"They got the box," Knox said to Natasha. "They know the plan."

"What do we do?" Daphne asked no one in particular, just someone who could answer her in her time of need. Her fear climbed, but it had not yet reached its peak, of sweet death or release, and she wished it could, soon.

"They'll be coming, Natasha," Knox said. "The heroes that they think they are."

Natasha gave him a little smirk curved on her lips, and said, "So let them come."

As if on cue, a door upstairs opened, leaving it hanging by the hinges. Footsteps hovering over them, the floor upstairs, their enemies, who would soon learn if they didn't play well, they couldn't play at all.

* * *

The building was eerie; something about it just screamed setting of the new horror movie. Lights flickered on and off, giving out the feeling that someone was playing with them. Hannah didn't want to admit it-she never did-but she was scared as hell.

It was an abandoned warehouse, in the depths of Bangkok. The surroundings were nothing but concrete walls that kept them in solitary. Hannah had the second thought to just rush through those doors and never come back into the death building.

She could feel Evan's stare on her, and felt his hands intertwine with hers, comfort instantly washing over her like water. Hannah looked up, to the flickering lights, that were leading to a close door in front of them. But this time, the lights didn't just flicker to incase fear, they completely turned off, and Hannah felt like a little girl, scared out of her wits in a haunted house.

She could see an exit not too far away, and the part of her, selfish as that part was, told her to let go of Evan's hand and just run through those doors. But she knew better; the battlefield brought out the worst of them, and some were unreasonable enough to follow those senses. The last light flickered, and turned off.

It was their last resort to light, a protective shield that would help them see, but they were alone now. Hannah could feel Evan's hand fidget in her grip, and let go of his hand, when she knew she should've held on tighter to give reassurance. She could see the silhouettes of her parents in front of them, her father taking a step back so that he was standing next to her.

Darkness engulfed them, her senses were plagued with worry, and the feeling she always got when she didn't see a threat, but knew there was one coming. Being a soldier, she knew the feeling well. There wasn't even one light, leaving their brave team of four completely shadowed inside the building.

Hannah held the hand closest to her, and, judging by its coarse wrapping, she guessed it was her father. But she was wrong. So wrong. Darkness was never good. It gave out a threat, unseen, but not much less dangerous.

She screamed as a hand covered her mouth and a hand over her waist to keep her from running. In the darkness, she saw another person was given the same treatment, a silhouette of a man taken by the back, as two others just stood, oblivious to what was going on.

They couldn't hear the muffled screams; they couldn't see the two souls being carried away deeper and deeper inside the villains' plan. From the shadow, she guessed it was Evan who they brought along with her to share the moment. How gloriously horrifying that moment was.

* * *

The lights turned on the moment Hannah entered the room. She then saw it wasn't Evan they took to be with her, to comfort her and be with her, it was Peter. It was her father, and she could see he was just as scared as she was. The door had two windows, so they could see Claire and Evan through them.

Hannah placed her hands on the right window, her breath making mist on the glass. Her father, on the other hand, took his place on the left. They could Claire and Evan on the opposite, still looking disheveled and not knowing what happened. They turned to see their significant others gone from sight.

Claire's face instantly turned into something that resembled pure worry and concern for her fiancé. Evan's, on the other hand, looked anxious, and it was anxiety that made him all the more determined to save the _only_-emphasis on the only-girl he ever loved. They saw their faces in the windows of the door, but those faces disappeared as fast as they saw them.

"Peter!" Claire bellowed, trying to at least make some sense of what was happening.

Peter wouldn't cave in, whatever they did to him, he wouldn't be the casualty. He had too many people that hung to him. Claire rushed towards the door, nudging Evan to follow suit.

Through the glass windows, they could see Peter and Hannah on the floor, their backs to the door, and their eyes watching the villains. All of them were there, all four of them, meaning the space Claire and Evan occupied was empty, meaning there wasn't a threat to keep them from breaking down the damn door.

She got out the firearm she stole from Nathan at the mansion, and backed away from the door to shoot.

"What the hell?" Evan said, looking at the young woman handle the gun that looked too big for her. Her shots didn't work, the windows, the doors, escaped from the bullets without a scratch. Natasha got smart, and over-smarted them.

"It's bullet-proof," Claire said, pocketing back the pistol.

"You think?" Evan asked her, out of spite, maybe?

Inside, he could hear Hannah's screams for her father, and it almost broke him. Evan's face instantly turned to the window, seeing Hannah, her face so broken, yet so beautiful at the same time.

She looked like she'd been crying, but, no, Hannah didn't cry. She didn't break, not at the slightest. But he needed to make sure, he needed to come inside.

"I'm coming in!" Evan bellowed, because, inside, there were distracting noises that could reach his decimal.

"No, don't!" Hannah shook her head, her eyes glistened with tears. She was breaking. God, no.

"I can handle this," Hannah said, glancing from her boyfriend to her mother. "We can handle this."

Her face disappeared from view, to go to war with the villains, her back was to the door, but Evan could almost see her determined, strong face.

"Get inside, Evan," Claire said, completely ignoring what her daughter just said.

"But, she said-" Evan said, but Claire cut him off with a stern look. She glared at him, and gripped her hands on his shirt.

"Listen to me, Evan! Hannah cannot do this alone! Even if Peter is strong enough, they can't do this alone! They need us! She needs _you_, Evan," Claire said, giving him a strong, stern pep talk. Evan looked from her face, to the window that longer became the frame to Hannah's picture.

"Answer me one question," Claire said. "Do you love her?" The answer was easy, the question would be hard, the setting would be different, but the answer, when it depended on Hannah, would always be easy.

Evan looked at her, and said, "Yes."

* * *

They were stuck. In a room with no escape. The people they loved on the other side, and they didn't have any method of getting out. This was Peter's worst nightmare. Being separated from Claire had haunted his dreams for the past few days, but he would never have dreamt that it would have actually happened.

Hannah stood by him, the palms of her hands placed on the hard door, and suddenly she started pushing. She started banging on the doors that could help loosen, to help them get out. Peter looked at her face, seeing how desperate she was, but it didn't mean a thing anymore to console her future daughter. They would get out; they would escape, just not now.

But Peter, ever the optimist, figured if they were here, Claire would be safe on the outside. Both of them would be safe. But she turned around, and the love of his life turned his face into a canvas that was wrought with terror.

"Claire!" Peter screamed out, hoping she could hear him. She did.

"How nice of you to drop by," a voice shattered his thought. Both of them turned, and saw Natasha and her league of villains behind her. They loomed over them like shadows, giving out scared feelings out of Peter, and, no doubt, Hannah, too. "Seems you found our hideout," Natasha said.

"You made it pretty easy for us. Guess you didn't really think things through," Peter said, striding towards her.

The villains didn't move, but Daphne almost made a move to. Sylar didn't look as evil as he did before, in fact, his twin brother looked like something that would resemble remorse on his face.

Remorse? No, Peter must've been seeing things, because, as far as he knew, Sylar didn't have the capability to feel anything. Except the pain that Peter would soon instill in him.

Peter stood in front of his brother-Natasha would pay later, this time Sylar would make his dues sooner-and threw him on the wall with his chosen instrument of torture: telekinesis. The smaller man, the empath, telekinetically put his hand on his twin's neck, and choked him.

The serial killer's face was becoming paler by the moment. Knox decided to play his part and take out Hannah while Peter was distracted with suffocating his brother.

"I'm glad you chose to bring out your dark side, son," Natasha said, smirking at what her son was doing to his brother. Peter realized that killing wasn't going to help anyone, except himself, and prove Natasha right: that he really was her son.

"Please…" Sylar choked out, a plea for his brother to hear him. He was caving in? No, this wasn't Sylar, it wasn't.

This was Gabriel. Little Gabriel Gray, the watchmaker's son, who was asking for help, for forgiveness. The man behind the camera, this was who he was. Peter let go of him, but realized that moment of weakness led him to being punched by Knox, hurdling him towards the wall, his back crashing with hard, concrete surface.

"Dad!" he could hear Hannah say. He wasn't knocked out, not to say the least, but his sight was scarce, and the next chain of events became blurry in his brown eyes. The door finally opened, the hinges falling and crashing into the opposite wall. He could see the punch mark, and the blue flames that still surrounded it, and he reminded himself to thank Evan later on.

Hannah hugged Evan in their little moment of reconciliation. "I told you…" she said, as she nestled against his chest.

"I know what you told me. Listen to what I'm telling you now," Evan said, cupping her face, forcing her eyes to look at him directly. "I love you, okay? It might not be enough for us to get out of here alive, but it's enough for me."

"I wish it didn't come to this," Hannah said, kissing him fiercely. "Me, too," Evan said, responding to her kiss.

But they knew the moment couldn't last; for them, it never would. Their moment was ruined when Evan saw Natasha striding for them, her hands nothing more than balls of fire aiming for them.

It would weaken them, when it wasn't in full motion, but, if it was, it could kill them. A slow, torturous death, but still death. No, Hannah was going that easily…

Evan did the first thing that came to mind; he turned her body around, so that the fire would hit him instead. Sacrifice. The flame hit him directly at the back, and he felt the pain radiate from that spot, and travel from his feet until his head ached.

"Evan," Hannah breathed, trying to hold him up, her face astonished from what he did. His face became distorted, but it became peaceful a few moments after he got hit. Both of them fell to the floor, his weight too heavy for her.

She placed him on the ground, and prayed to the good Lord that he wasn't dead. Don't be dead, she prayed, holding his hand. She knew she shouldn't have been distracted, no; these were the senses that came out during battle. But she couldn't move, her legs were stapled to the floor, and her hand had taken permanent residence in his.

"I love you," Evan managed to choke out.

"No, don't you do that. You're going to make it out of here," Hannah said, tugging on his arm more. It seemed the scene was fading around her, the only focus points were her and Evan. Her parents were nothing anymore, they were in oblivion.

"I'm dying," Evan said. "…Nothing you can do."

"If you're dying, then I'm dying, too," Hannah said. "If you're making this sacrifice, so am I. I am not leaving you, Evan. We made a promise. And, damn it all, I am keeping that promise." She could hear a dark chuckle escape his lips.

"You're tired," Evan said, looking at her face.

"I am," Hannah said. "So tired. Don't die on me now, okay? Stay alive just a little bit more. I'm going to take care of something."

"I'll stay," Evan said, holding her hand up, and giving her palm a kiss.

"Mom!" Hannah yelled out. Claire came running from her scene to her daughter's side, blood soaking her shirt, and tire drenching her soul. "I need you to take care of Evan, okay?" she asked her mother.

Claire nodded, and put her hands around the boy's. Hannah got up, and walked towards Natasha. She had all she needed to take Natasha out, to pay for she did, to her, to her family, to Evan, to the human race. The impending doom that was coming for them.

The elderly woman that she could've called Grandmother in another life, stood in front of the machine, an inch away from taking the lives of millions. "You aren't doing this," Hannah said.

"What makes you think I'm not?" Natasha smirked mercilessly.

"Because I'm going to kill you before you get the chance," Hannah said.

"Maybe you are part of the family. Bravery is something I've always admired, Hannah," Natasha said.

"Good, admire it in your grave!" Hannah screeched, making her hand into a metal shield. She punched the elderly woman from her face, until her nose bled from the inevitable pain she was causing her, then to her gut. Hannah seemed to be enjoying every moment of it, giving Natasha everything she deserved. But despite the scars, the blood, her biological grandmother sustained her arrogance.

"You can't hurt me," she said.

"Look at me, I already am," Hannah said, gripping on Natasha's shirt, that was already blood-soaked and took her revenge.

She saw Evan's face flash in front of her eyes in every punch she gave Natasha, and in the ones she gave her in turn. This was for him. Natasha was crouched down on the floor now, overtaken by what Hannah did to her, but still not showing her broken side. Hannah saw her moment of weakness, and turned her right hand into missiles to fire at the woman. _How long I've waited for this moment…_

"Hannah!" someone called out, stopping her. She turned, and saw her father. "Mind if I help?"

"You're welcome to, Dad," Hannah said, smiling at him.

Natasha apparently felt more of a moment of bravery, and flamed her son. Peter's burns healed faster than they burned. A shadow loomed behind her, giving out the suspicion they weren't the only ones in the room.

But Peter's attention was turned back to the woman who gave him life, and gave him death. For the weeks he'd known her, the only power she exhibited were the flames she turned on when she was angry. But she did show her emotions through her powers, and this was the time to spread her capabilities. Peter could see the anger in her eyes, the wanting to just get it over with, and it showed within moments.

Apparently, anger brought out super strength. And anger, through Natasha's abilities, also gave her eyes a red glow. She poked Peter, but it's impact was nothing so innocent. His entire body catapulted to the opposite wall, helpless against her ability.

"Stop!" Hannah screeched, but, she, too, was powerless against her. It was as if her body was glued to the floor, unable to help her father. "Don't hurt him!" Natasha merely smirked, her eyes still glowing with red fury. She didn't even remotely showed that she heard the girl's screams. All she focused on was the son in front of her.

"Peter, such a shame you have to die," Natasha said, taking out the Restrain gun. "You were such a handsome man. So much potential. I guess I taught you not to mess with mumm-" Her sentence ended, and so did her life. She groaned and fell to the floor. Behind her was the culprit: Peter's own brother.

"Taking your heart, Mother," Sylar said, in his hands was said bloody organ he got from phasing through his mother's back. "It's not like you never had one anyway."

"Sylar, you-" Peter said, glancing from his brother to the dead, bloody corpse on the floor. But one thought stayed in his mind: _we did it._

"Thank me later, brother, we need to get out of here now," Sylar said.

"Why? No trouble, right?" Hannah said, seeing the machine.

"Not exactly. The machine's programmed to blow everything up if it's not set in the right order. Now that Natasha's dead, it's not set at all," Sylar said. "Big trouble."

"Let's get everyone out of here, then," Peter said running back to the room where everyone was at. Claire was fighting like a maniac, punching back every blow Knox and Daphne gave her, and Evan stayed on the floor, his last breaths erratic.

"Evan!" Hannah said, crouching down next to him. "You still with me?"

"I'm still with you," Evan answered. "Just for a while longer."

"You're tired," Hannah said, repeating what he said. "You should get some sleep."

But she knew that when he closed his eyes, his sleep would be eternal, and she'd never lose herself in those eyes again. But if he fell asleep, she needed to keep her promise, and she'd be right there with him.

"I love you," Hannah said. She kissed him.

One more time, one more time, rang through her head. But she didn't hear a reply, not those three words in reply, like he always did. No. no, no, no. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling down on his chest that stopped rising, the body that stopped breathing, the shell that no longer occupied him. She sobbed, placing her head on his chest.

She was losing breath, gasping for oxygen as thought there was plenty. Her body shook, shivering from her loss. The scene was heartbreaking to watch, like the tragic movie that had no happy ending.

The only thought inside Sylar's mind was _he didn't deserve this._ "Ready for another one?" Knox whispered to him. Swiftly, the black man handed over the last Restrain gun into his hands.

No, he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't do it, not to his brother, not to him. This only proved another theory of his: no matter how much you tried, how much you fuckin' tried, as long as there was one villain they were never safe. Even as his mother lied dead in the other room, another monster was created during her time leading them.

God knew it wasn't Sylar, or Daphne, the innocent deer she was, it was Knox. It was this man Natasha took under her wing, and gave him purpose. In some ways, Knox was more her son that he was.

"You're afraid," Knox said, breathing in his fear."I thought you wanted to be Cain."

Sylar could see Daphne overhead, still looking at the sad scene of the dead teenage boy. But her eyes then averted to Sylar, seeing the gun in his hands. She shook her head, don't do it.

"I am not going to do it," Sylar said, shaking his head, not looking at Knox.

"You are," Knox said, his breath hot on his neck. A menacing threat to make the serial killer do the last duty his mother asked him to do.

"No, I'm not!" Sylar bellowed, and pushed Knox against the wall to face his death.

"'One brother must kill the other'," Knox said, repeating Natasha's lines from the night before.

"Not in this story," Sylar said. He almost didn't see that his opponent started towards the gun.

It was as if the building shook, from the very intensity that ran inside it, like blood from a new corpse. It was as if the world was silent, that the other wars didn't matter, that this was the only story in play. Not a romantic comedy taking place on the streets of New York, or a birth somewhere in Zimbabwe, but the raging battle inside the heart of Bangkok. And the outcome of it would change the world. And, it did.

* * *

A/N: To clear up confusion, Natasha kept Peter and Hannah in place by telekinesis, one of her many powers, and Sylar did not get phasing from DL, just another random guy. Leave feedback, I always love 'em! Happy 2009! *throws confetti at your face*

-Aly


	22. Fallen Messiah

A/N: Don't kill me!

This chapter is for my best friend, Ira. She has been my number one supporter from the beginning, and my editor along the way. If it wasn't for her, I'd be heading towards Breakdown City. Love you, Beav.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"**Fallen Messiah"**

**This ends now, today, on this very spot. It will end. For the better, for the worse? That's the outcome we'll never know. But I know that when we walk through those doors, we're new again. That despite what happened, we'll never forget, but we'll forgive. But there's always a fact that a hero died today, and a villain did, too. And born, was us. **

The color of night escaped from the outside world into the living room of a Brooklyn apartment. On the couch, seemingly restless, was a Japanese man with his precious katana at his side. He breathed steadily, worrying for the safety of his friends.

In the room up front was a teenage girl, who told her guardian she was going to sleep, possibly too afraid to be awake during the outcome. But, truth was, little Molly Walker had never been so awake in her life. Her eyes were closed, but her mind set wandering. She wanted to stop thinking of Peter, her friend, her babysitter at a lot of occasions, because she didn't want to see it. So she focused, instead, on her boyfriend.

And instantly, she saw the boy in his room, sitting upright in a seat, looking up to the ceiling. His hand was on his stomach, not showing the slightest intention of closing his eyes and being swept off to Dreamland and not facing the reality that was coming for him soon. But she, on the other hand, was looking forward to lying to herself and sleeping until a shake would wake her up. She didn't want to be awake.

In the kitchen were two adults, the woman dressed in a silk night robe, while the man, Indian, wore something a man would wear if he were going out. Jeans, a nice T-shirt was his attire. Cups of coffee sat in front of them on the table, only a few sips were taken due to their anxiety. The two had their hands clasped together for reassurance that their friends were going to make it out fine.

Scars would be acceptable, at the least, but breath was mandatory. The Indian man's fingers rubbed against the palm of the attractive woman'sfor reassurance that their friends were going to be fine. The Japanese man from the couch stood in their doorway. "Hiro, are you okay?" Mia asked, looking at him.

"I'm worried," Hiro said.

"They'll be fine," Mohinder said, but not knowing the truth himself. "It's just taking more time than they expected."

"If they don't get out in half an hour, I'm going after them," Mia said, suddenly.

"I will be following you," Hiro said. But, inside, he was hoping he'd never have to, and they'd be coming home to them.

* * *

Were some people born to be something? A hero, a villain? Is it ingrained in each of their souls, a fate they can't play with, a destiny they can't escape? As he shot Knox right in the chest, taking his black soul as quick as life had given him breathe, Sylar decided no. It was the choices they made along the way that made them who they were. Sylar might've chosen the dark path at one time, but he decided it was never too late to turn back and make a detour in his life.

Before Knox had died, he sent two others with him, into a place that would occupy the dead, into a place the living would not be until their last minutes. Two gunshots. One was immediate; the soul had fallen to the floor, her life taken brutally and undeservingly. Hannah, his niece, was dead.

The future daughter lied on the floor, her head on her boyfriend's chest, keeping the promise she made. They were joined together now, eternally, forever in death. They had lived for each other, and, now, they had died for each other. The other gunshot was aimed at Peter-Knox finishing off the task that Sylar was reluctant to do.

Claire was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she saw the death of her future daughter, and the impending death of the love of her life. Sylar felt alienated, hovering over them like a ghost. He turned to Daphne, his best friend, the woman he owed everything to.

But as soon as she looked at him, she disappeared, leaving the scene where she didn't belong to, the family that had no intention in taking her in. A whoosh of air passed him, and, just like that, Daphne was gone.

Peter's head was held cradled in Claire's lap, both of them oblivious the fact that the machine was going to explode in, at the latest, 30 minutes. He didn't blame them; the lovers looked completely in their own scene, not really paying attention to anything else. Not to Peter's estranged brother, and not to the two dead bodies merely stones away from them. Claire looked down, fresh tears joining the dry ones. Peter's eyes escaped Claire's gaze, and planted themselves on his long-lost brother.

"Gabriel?" he spoke out. Used to be, being called Gabriel was his kryptonite, the anger would boil inside of him, because he knew he was more than Gabriel, much more. But, now, hearing his old name on his brother's lips, it seemed right. Maybe he was never really Sylar; he was always Gabriel, hidden under the strong, evil exterior.

Sylar (Gabriel now, maybe?) crouched down at his brother's side, and Peter surprised both of them by placing his free hand on his. Sylar tried to save him, but he saw that nothing could be done now. The damage was done, the blood spilt on the floor by the numerous corpses they left behind in the raging war that was never really finished.

"Peter, I'm so sorry," Sylar said, looking at his niece's now dead body then to his brother's almost-dead soul.

Peter let out a chuckle, deep from his throat, then answered, "I forgive you."

"You shouldn't. All the things I did to you, I don't deserve your forgiveness," Sylar said, holding his hand tightly. He then looked to the cheerleader he once tried to massacre back in Texas, and saw her looking back. Her face said no emotions, no feeling of hatred, or unresolved anger, just merely looking back at him like a mirror.

"You deserve my forgiveness. More than anyone. You saved me," Peter said.

"I tried to," Sylar gave a quaint little smile. "But your daughter and you…"

"Come here," Peter nudged Sylar to come closer to him. The younger of the twins whispered steadily, "There's a letter for Claire, in my apartment. I want you to give it to her. One more thing, take care of them, okay? Of Claire, of my children."

"It's a promise," Sylar said swiftly. Peter was getting erratic; the shots were getting to him now. The empath coughed out blood that landed on Sylar, but neither brother seem to mind. Loss of blood was miniscule compared to the loss of lives that happened along the way.

"I love you, Claire," Peter said to her, his breath no longer steady, showing he was soon ready for death, opening his arms welcomingly to his fate. He had been afraid of death, had done everything he could to prevent the permanent state, not to be healed numerous times by the love of his life's essence. He had promised Nathan to give up, but it wouldn't be the first time Peter let his brother down.

Nobody said anything. Sylar stayed silent, and Claire's only sounds were her relentless sobbing over him. He wanted to say, don't cry. Don't cry, he wanted to whisper in her ear. But he was too weak. Sylar wondered if they were right, if your life did play in front of your eyes as you faced death in the eye.

He wondered what Peter was seeing, the infancy he shared with Sylar, the childhood and teenager years he spent with Nathan as his big brother, and his adulthood he went through with Claire. Everyone that meant even remotely anything to him. Claire brushed Peter's hair, as his body rattled out of control. Every inch of his body shaken by the impending death.

Sylar wanted to say his brother didn't go through a lot of pain, but that would've been a lie. And, just like that, finally settling into a steady state, Peter had taken the last sight of the world, had taken the last scent of Claire along with him, he had blown his last breath. The dreamer of the world, the brother of two amazing men, the lover of a strong young woman, and the father of two unborn children was dead. Peter Petrelli, his many names were sorted out like archives, but one stayed in both Claire and Sylar's minds: hero. Peter Petrelli, the hero, was dead.

* * *

Claire was numb, completely and utterly numb. She couldn't feel anything; if a knife stabbed in the back, she wouldn't feel it. Everything had been shut down, her feelings, her brain was in temporary relapse, and it seemed her heart had stopped beating, because the very thing that was keeping her alive was gone.

"No, Peter…" Claire said, tears streaming down her cheeks, shaking the unmoving body on her lap. "I love you," Claire said, losing her voice.

Her plea sounded like a creak of the loose floorboards, squeaky and hard to interpret. She finally found peace and serenity, feeling nothing but air around her, and the head of the love of her life cradled in her touch. She still couldn't say aloud the truth that hit her, she couldn't finally admit to the cruel joke Fate had played on her. She didn't want to confess that the man on her lap was dead, she wanted to believe in something more.

Something that couldn't break her heart like this, so she tricked herself to thinking it was nothing but a dream. And she would be woken up, perfectly safe in Peter's arms, and Peter would be alive in this daydream, he would trail kisses along her body and help her forget everything that happened. He would gently stroke his fingers through her hair, a movement that calmed her down every time he did it. He would make her laugh, smile, and emit sounds of passion and desire all at the same.

Only Peter did that, only Peter could make her forget everything, toss everything that wasn't related to them out the window. But, thinking about this dream life didn't help Claire one bit. It only hurt her; quench her intestines until they were nothing but dancing confetti inside of her. It wasn't helping her, because whatever she dreamt, it was just that: dreams.

"He's dead," Claire finally said. She then burst into tears, her hands still tangled in Peter's hair, but now, one of them covered her mouth before she gasped for air. A shadow hovered over her, like a broken angel, knowing he felt the same loss she did at that very moment. Right then, she didn't look at him, didn't care if he was friend, or foe, or something miraculously in between.

She just let it happen, she just let this stranger that had become an ally engulf her in his arms. He tried to soothe her, with his "It's okay," or his "Ssh," but he just couldn't do it. His touch seemed alien to her, it didn't seem right. But she finally remembered they were each other's family now, the past didn't matter, the future didn't matter, the only time that mattered was the here and now.

"They're gone," Claire said, crying against his chest. She didn't just think of Peter, but also of Hannah, the future daughter she loved, Evan, the boy who always managed to put a smile on everyone else's faces even when times were rough, Ando, the loyal sidekick she could always depend on, and DL, who never doubted her, or thought she was less than she was.

It was only then she realized that this war was fought, not by their soldiers, but by the people who loved them, who cared about them, the people they, in turn, loved. And it would be to these people she would have to explain that Peter was dead. That he wasn't coming back like he always did, he wasn't going to be healed as he did so many times before, but gone forever.

"Claire?" a voice interrupted her, breaking her thought. Claire looked up from Sylar's embrace and saw that Hiro and Mia had arrived.

"Oh, Good God," Mia whispered, seeing the corpse of Evan on the floor. The woman burst into tears, clapped her hands over her mouth and crouched down next to Evan.

Hiro, it seemed, completely forgot about Claire, and did Mia's same doing with Hannah. Both of them just sat there in silence, as if for respect for the deceased. Claire and Sylar didn't make a move to interrupt them in their moment of mourning and grief. But Hiro noticed him anyway.

The Japanese man, far more serious than Claire had ever seen him, drew his sword, and pointed to Sylar. The ex-serial killer didn't flinch; he was used to threats, but his arms left Claire's body so that he could talk Hiro out of it. "You did this, you killed them. All of them," Hiro said.

"No, I didn't," Sylar said calmly.

"You're lying!" Hiro bellowed at him. C

laire had never heard Hiro scream, or yell, he had always been the honorable man. He'd never raised his voice in anger, settling, instead, to a somewhat duel with the enemy. But that wasn't the case with Sylar; Claire knew what he did to him. Sylar, two years ago, had killed a waitress in Texas. To him, then, it was nothing more than a conquest, another power to be added to his already fitted list. But to Hiro, Charlene Andrews was the love of his life, and Sylar was responsible for her death.

"Hiro, he's telling the truth," Claire said, standing up to his level. Hiro looked at her, as if studying her face of any recognition of falsehood, but Claire passed the test. He put down his sword, his head bowed down in apology. Claire embraced the man, knowing he needed it, and let him cry. She let him sob because she knew he needed to, that he, as much as everyone else, needed to grieve, needed to mourn, for all of their losses, and that the embrace would give him sweet release.

* * *

Both Mohinder and Molly were surprised when they opened the door in the night. Mia and Hiro had just gone, to check up on Peter and the others. Mohinder opened the door, which revealed a neatly dressed pair, a blonde woman with a teenage son.

"Niki? Micah?" Mohinder asked, incredulous. Niki hugged the Indian man hello, while her son kissed his girlfriend. It was somewhat innocent, nothing too relentless in front of their guardians.

"What are you doing here?" Mohinder asked, after they got over their welcomes and hellos between friends.

"Thought it would be nice surprise to fly in. With DL's funeral and all," Niki said, smiling at him. "Where are Hiro and Mia?"

"They went out, to check up on the team," Mohinder explained. "Guess we just have to wait," Micah said, and grinned mischievously at his girlfriend. He looked at his mother for permission to go inside Molly's room, and Niki absent-mindedly nodded, as she resumed talking to Mohinder. The two teenagers escaped inside Molly's room.

Micah hadn't seen Molly's room in a long time, and was glad to see that everything was intact. He liked Molly, because she wasn't the type of girl who had posters of good-looking celebrities on her walls, or the girls who had a pink vanity table filled with perfumes and make-up. In his opinion, Molly didn't need any powder or lipstick or whatever it was girls wanted these days; she looked perfect just as she was. Micah kissed her out of the blue, and Molly pulled away with a smile.

In a few years, Micah would become a full fledged teenager, like the boys he saw in movies, just looking like prey to unhealthy habits, as his mother called them. And he would get raging hormones, which his Dad explained to him once, and, he decided now, if that ever happened; he wanted that person to be Molly. Always Molly.

Their moment was ruined when they heard an earth-shattering scream from the living room. His mother. The two of them looked at each other, and went to the living room. There, was a horrible sight, half of their friends' bodies rested on the floor, or on couches. And, as surprising as it was, there Sylar stood over them, like a lost friend.

He almost had to restrain Molly from going rampage on the serial killer. No, they needed an explanation, they needed something to explain what the hell happened on battlefield, and why they escaped with a serial killer in their midst. Micah wanted to speak up, but that honor went to his mother.

"What happened, Claire?" Niki asked.

"A lot," Sylar answered for her, seeing the cheerleader lost in translation, unable to answer anything they threw at her.

"Then please explain why the hell you're here!" Molly asked spitefully.

"Molly, calm down," Micah whispered in her ear.

"He killed my parents!" Molly yelled at him. "He killed Matt! He's a monster!"

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Mohinder said calmly, but he wasn't so determined to let his father's killer inside their tight-knitted group.

It took refills of coffee, sitting down and Sylar explaining to make everyone's blood pressure go back to normal. It took only 15 minutes of talking to make Sylar actually feel welcome in the world his brother created. It took 15 minutes to make Sylar and Claire closer, bonded by their loss, and it took them those minutes for Sylar to be welcomed with a smile and a hug from Niki.

* * *

"Let me go home," Claire had said to the others.

Sylar was reluctant to let her go alone, but let her go anyway. He knew she needed the time just to be alone. Her keys jingled, and she was welcomed to Peter's abode, his apartment he left behind. She didn't bother to close back the door, because, somewhere, deep inside of her, she was naïve enough to believe Peter would still walk through the door, greeting her with open arms, with his lopsided grin. But she knew that would never happen.

She walked to Peter's room, and saw it was just as he left it: like he always intended to come back, like he would be the one cleaning up the tangled sheets, but no. Claire was left, cleaning up his mess, cleaning up all the tidbits he left behind. She collided her back with the solid wood of the end of his bed, and felt the tears coming. Easily, the hot tears, the tears she thought had been all dried up already, streamed down her face. She heard the door open, revealing the brother Peter left behind.

"Claire…" he said, as he sat next to her. In his hands was a small letter, with a bulge in the envelope. "Peter left you a letter," Sylar said.

Claire looked up at the forgotten brother, and took the letter from his hands. She skimmed through it, only a few sentences that stuck with her, that her brain processed others she would leave behind.

"Read it for me," Claire said, handing over the letter to Sylar.

"To the cheerleader who saved my world," he began. "This letter is a reason, an excuse. I'm watching you sleep, so beautiful. If you're reading this, then I'm probably dead. You're probably crying, and you wouldn't be the strong woman I know you've become. You'd be too scared to read this letter alone, so I'm imagining you're reading it with my brother." Sylar gulped at that sentence, because he knew Peter meant Nathan, not him, never him.

"Hopefully you'll forgive me, for all I've done, for the times I've hurt you, or pushed you away. Just know I did it because I loved you too much. I'll always love you. There are things I can't say to you right now, because I'm not strong enough. I've always loved you, ever since that day, at Homecoming. I partly thank Sylar for us," Sylar smiled at that sentence. "Hopefully when I'm gone, you'll find out just how much you mean to the rest. You can't be selfish and fragile and leave them, they're your family, and they care about you as much as I do. Then sometimes I wonder what it would be like if Sylar was my brother."

He looked at Claire, wondering if he should finish it, finish the sentence. Claire nodded in approval. "I know he's good at heart. All he needs is a little encouragement. If ever he comes to you for forgiveness, I want you to give it to him. He needs a family. Hannah once told us that I had a few wise words to leave behind, and here they are. Give me a world to save, lend me a heart to love, grant me a life to lead. Take me Lord, to a better place, let me get out of this hell, let me right this wrong, let me save the world. It fits, doesn't it? Who knows? If I do get out alive, I could be a poet. Claire, my love, I want you to read the rest of this letter at my funeral, for everyone."

Claire looked broken, the hollow shell of the cheerleader Peter described, her heart nothing more than two pieces of broken glass. She stood up, and Sylar took her by the arm.

"Claire, what are you doing?" Sylar asked.

"I need to feel something! I need to feel pain because this is hurting too much. This is too much pain! I need to feel something that hurts more than Peter leaving me, than him leaving us!" she yelled out, then proceeded to punch her hand through the glass cabinet. She retrieved her hand, and saw that her knuckles were lined with crimson pain. She didn't stop, nor did she respond to Sylar's worried calls. She just punched into more walls, her pain not decreasing, instead it heightened beyond imagination.

"Claire, don't do this!" Sylar stood up, putting an arm on each side of her.

"Don't tell you're not mad! Don't you tell me you are not at the least bit angry with him! Don't tell me that, because you'd be lying!" Claire yelled at him, hitting him square in the chest. "He left you, Sylar! The brother he barely knew! You should be angrier than me!"

"You know what? You're right! I am pissed at my brother at leaving me, at leaving us!" Sylar said. "But it also makes me grateful, because he gave me you. He gave me to take care of, to fix."

"Sylar…" Claire said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Ssh, it's alright," Sylar said, hugging her and stroking her hair.

"They're gone," Claire said, showing signs of sadness for her long lost daughter. "And he's gone. We're all alone. They left us."

* * *

A/N: One more chapter: The epilogue! Please, please please don't kill me and go rampage on me on how I decided to end it! If you are angry or disatisfied, I am sorry, but please leave a review for all your disappointments, because I know there will be some.

-Aly


	23. Aftermath

**A/N: I've been dedicating the last chapters to the people/things who have helped me along the way. this one, is to my readers.**

Silent or heard, thank you for reading my fic. Special thanks goes out to RLN Tonks, who gave me my first review, and without her, I would've given up on TFT. To Dani, one of my fave Paire writers who had the decency to review at my stories, to Realynn8, who I think reviewed on all of the early chapters. To Lara, who I made a friendship with during the course of my writing.

To Raisa, who read and got addicted to it, to Jim, who only read because I forced him to, to Seri, who always forgot where she stopped on. For those who didn't get a special thanks, you're no lesser than the other readers. You're as much as this story as I am. Although TFT has a sequel, this is the fic that drew me down, and begged me to love it. And, God Bless, I did. Thank you, all!

By the way, all of you have a special seat at the funeral. On whichever side of the character you loved the most. Hannah, Evan, Ando and Peter. Just visualise it. Enjoy!

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* * *

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**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"**Aftermath"**

Give me a world to save, lend me a heart to love, grant me a life to lead. Take me Lord, to a better place, let me get out of this hell, let me right this wrong, let me save the world

---Words of our bravest son, Peter Michael Petrelli.

* * *

A few interesting things happened during the course of the following week.

Number One: Claire Bennet tried to kill herself again. Needless to say, the attempt was unsuccessful.

Niki heard an earth-shattering scream as she walked inside Peter's apartment. As if on reflex, the single mother rushed into the bathroom, and saw the most horrible sight she'd ever seen.

Claire Bennet was lying on the floor, a Swiss Army knife in her hand while her other arm was decorated with blood and healing wounds.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Niki asked her good friend. Claire looked up to see her friend, tears glinting in her eyes as she made another cut, not paying attention to Niki's presence.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Claire finally said, angrily. Niki got down on her knees, not caring that the floor was the base of falling blood from Claire's pain and agony.

"You wouldn't understand!" Claire yelled at her.

"I'm the only one who can!" Niki shot back.

That got Claire's attention, and the woman who just lost her love looked at her, asking, "What?"

"I know what it feels like. When D died, I wanted to take my life, too. I wanted to drink myself to death just so that I could be with him," Niki said, gripping her hands on the other woman's bloody shoulders.

"What made you stay?" Claire asked; her question like a naïve girl's one.

"Micah," Niki smiled at her.

"What's gonna make me stay?" Claire asked instead.

"Sylar," Niki answered simply, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. In more ways than one, it was. Peter's twin brother needed Claire more than he ever needed anyone else in his life; he depended on her for dear life, because, if it wasn't for her, his life was torn into pieces.

She could see the broken form of him, and didn't want to see it again. It was like seeing a lost child in the park without his mother, only this was a grown man stuck in a world without even the single glint of family. That was, except for Claire.

"He needs you, Claire. He's more than willing to take care of you, you should do the same," Niki said. "You're the only family he has left, and he's your only family, too."

Claire looked up to her, once again, and didn't say anything for the following moments. It was a strange sight, two blonde women on the floor of an abandoned apartment, with blood adorning both the floor and now their clothes, one of them grasping on the other as if for reassurance, and the other one, smaller, more innocent, was crying. But, then, Claire hugged her friend, silently thanking her in between relentless sobs for her loss.

Number Two: Claire made an official name change.

The afternoon was delicious, it was one of those days where you could suck in the fresh air, and not worry about anything. It had been a while since Claire didn't worry. The past few days were nothing but worrying, of pain, of agony, of endless sobbing Sylar always had to be there to comfort her for, and one or two other suicide attempts.

But, today, it seemed, the universe was good to her, they actually wanted her to be happy. Claire escaped the building, and saw her two good friends on a bench, sipping their gassy drinks with greasy brown paper bags on their laps.

Out of their entire team, Niki had been the most welcoming to Sylar. Claire knew the single mother enough to know she believed in second chances, starting over when the opportunity presented itself, and she believed that Sylar deserved that second chance.

He wanted forgiveness, above all, and acceptance would come later on, but, for Niki, it came all together. The two of them seemed to be smiling about something, a joke only told between them. Claire cared about both of them deeply, like one would feel about an old friend or a member of a family, and she sometimes wondered if those innocent, caring feelings would evolve for Sylar.

For a man who spent the last three years either in solitary or incognito, she had to give it to him: he was a good man, an honorable man; something Claire suspected ran in the family. Sylar was the first one to notice Claire, and stood up instantly, putting down his brown paper bag on the bench.

"How was it?" he asked. Sometimes her mind was boggled at how good he was to her, after all he did.

"Lady and gentleman, you're looking at Claire Petrelli," Claire smiled. Niki embraced her, as Sylar just gave her a warm smile since he didn't think it was 'appropriate' for them to hug, although he gave one when Peter died.

She chose the name, not to honor her biological father, but to be reminded of what could've happened between her and Peter. And, that, made her wear her new last name with pride.

Number Three; Sunday was the day of the first quadruple funeral St. James Graveyard ever saw.

The crowd was a sea of black, nothing but somber faces wearing black as an ensemble. Claire herself looked solemn, from her face that resembled something like a stone, to her attire. She sat at the front row, in between Hiro and Sylar, who insisted on holding her hand through the entire ordeal.

She didn't mind, she liked the attention, and the fact he was just as messed up as she was. Ok, maybe more, since killer and adopted were on his life résumé, but both of them are handling the loss. Hiro had not forgiven Sylar yet, he smiled and politely said hellos when the time was appropriate, but hadn't totally given the ex-serial killer his forgiveness for killing Charlie.

Claire was in mourning, she couldn't speak, not to Niki, who she usually retreated to, not to Sylar, who she admitted was concerned for her more than he should be, not to anyone, not even Zach, who came over from Texas at her request. She couldn't even greet her families when they arrived.

Noah Bennet came arm in arm with his wife, with his son by their side. All three of them hugged Claire as a greeting, but words weren't spoken, all of them were silent for her loss. A lot of questions were reeling in Noah's head, like the presence of Sylar, or the death toll in the graveyard, but he knew better, he knew his little girl when she didn't want to talk.

Nathan had come with the whole Petrelli clan with him. Angela wasn't talking for once; Heidi held her head low, with each of her sons on both sides of her. They sat at the first row; Claire was intent on letting Nathan sit a little bit further from Sylar. Peter seemed to hold a lot of friends dear, and Claire tried to have as much people as she could accomodate. Through the sadness and solemn, it seemed she still felt the impact Peter left behind for them.

On the podium stood Mia, the second person to make a speech, after Hiro for Ando. On Evan's behalf, there were only two people, Mia, and a girl Evan knew from his high school years that had ability, too, a petite young woman by the name of Julia. Peter seemed to have a lot of friends, his childhood allies, in his nursing school years. They all seemed as torn up as she was.

Claire was next, but the feeling of disbelief still stayed with her. The blind truth of her sitting at front row at the love of her life's funeral was still growing inside her. The truth was, that so many things had changed, first with Peter and herself, then with Sylar's sudden 180, then Peter's death.

It was too much, and she couldn't believe it happen in under a month. It was too much she had to absorb, it was too much for her to believe, that this was the way it was ending, that this was the way their adventure ended, with more dead than alive. She could feel herself crying again, and she gripped tighter on Sylar's touch, probably numbing both of them, but she knew neither minded. All she needed to know was that someone was always there for her.

Sylar surprised both of them and placed a tender kiss on Claire's head when it was time for her to go up and make a speech. Claire looked Sylar in square in the eyes, and silently thanked the good Lord for sending a real live Gabriel to save her. She got up, Peter's letter in her hands.

She stood in front of everyone, every pair of eyes looking at her, making her feel she was fifteen again, presenting her poem to the entire school. But she knew she had to do it, present the words Peter himself had written for his friends, everyone who cared for him.

She cleared her throat, but she realized it wasn't so hard to begin with. It was like a task, a simple assignment that would leave her in tears when it finished, just like the adventure they'd just been through. But, then, it would be worth it, because they'd know they didn't do in vain, that it amounted to something. Just like the letter would amount to something, too.

"You might know this, you might not, but the young woman we're laying to rest today is my daughter," Claire started about Hannah. Peter would go second, Claire decided. Hannah needed to be remembered, too. "She was an unbelievable young woman; she was strong, and not willing to go without a fight. She died being a hero, being someone the world would thank someday, and we are thanking her. For being strong, for being someone who the world needed: a hero."

She drew a sharp breath before continuing, "Hannah taught me a lot of things, lessons I'll keep on for the rest of my life. She taught me that the world, no matter how bad, or how worse it gets, will always need saving, and we need to be there to the job. Hopefully we'll learn, and we'll do the job she couldn't."

Claire was crying now, but her voice wasn't creaky or unrecognizable like it always was when she was crying, in fact, her voice was completely intact. It was her heart that needed some mending. She dropped down, and placed a red rose on Hannah's grave, that read: "Hannah Petrelli: Here Lies the Heroine of the Taken."

Claire then got back up, and opened Peter's letter, the first time in a week. She hadn't read it, not the parts that were directed to their friends, because she thought they should know before her.

"Peter left a letter, to be read to all of you, his friends, the ones that stuck by him through out the years, the ones who loved and cared for him," Claire said. She could feel her throat blocking her speech, as if someone was disabling her to talk, but she knew she had to overcome the pain, of her loss, of their loss, to tell the tale Peter Petrelli couldn't.

"'To my friends, my allies, first and foremost I'd like to say sorry. I want to say sorry that I'm not with you, that I can't be with you, and tell you I love you, because I do. I'm sorry I had to leave, but just know that I did it to save the world. I died so that our children, the very epitome of innocence, can experience a world without evil, so that they can appreciate what we've fought with our lives for. It's because of that very reason that I can't be with you'," Peter's words seared a hole through her, knowing he wrote these very words to tell them, to leave behind another piece of the puzzle that was lost forever.

"'You have fought for me, cared for me, and loved me more than I could've ever imagined. For that, I say thank you. I owe you so much that I can barely say the appreciation you deserve. You deserve more than just a letter I've left behind, so much more. You deserve lives you never got to live; you deserve chances that you left behind, opportunities you forgot to catch.'"

Claire felt everyone's eyes on her, felt the sadness that wafted over them, felt the very love Peter described. It was an overwhelming feeling, something she would never forget.

"'I'm not there to say this, but just know it's true. I love you, all of you. From Nathan, the big brother who took care of me and saved me in my time of need, and forgave me for the silly mistakes I've made, and Gabriel, the kin I don't think I ever stopped loving, to little Molly Walker who I fell in love with ever since I saw her'," Claire could feel herself chuckle, and saw that Nathan and Sylar looked at each other, sharing a moment of kinship that would soon disappear.

"'I love you all'," was the last line, but, at this point, Claire was already having a breakdown. But she gathered all the strength she could muster to drop down once again, and leave a rose on Peter's headstone.

This was where it ended, where it would all begin, her new life without the love of her life; this was where she would always come back. For solace, and comfort and reminders of the life she once led, the man she once knew and loved more than life itself.

It was this place she would visit, over and over again, to see how far she'd come, how far all of them came, from strangers, to friends, a full-bound family. She looked at the letter, already tear-stained from her own, and saw there was a PS at the bottom. She almost had the reflex to go back to the podium, but read that the line was only for her reading.

"PS, Claire, chances are, you're pregnant right now. From the information I got from Hannah, it's twins. Our oldest will be a surprise, but just know our beloved Hannah is the second. Hope they'll love you as I do."

* * *

Six Weeks Later

Niki came, bringing along the dreaded stick all wrapped inside a brown paper bag from the convenience store a few blocks down. She held it in front of her face as she leaned against the doorway, reminding Claire just why she was here, why she took a detour on her trip to visit Mohinder, Mia and Molly.

"Thanks for coming over, Nik," Claire smiled meekly.

"Anything. I mean, I've been waiting for you to call for weeks. I just never expected the time to be you asking me to buy pregnancy tests," Niki smiled.

Claire took the bag from her friend's hands and asked her to wait outside the bathroom. The blonde almost-nineteen year old then asked Niki to come in to the bathroom to have company as they waited for the result.

They stayed quiet for a few moments, Niki just standing there, her eyes glancing every once in a while from the stick on the bathroom counter to the anxious looking blonde who was biting her nails-a habit she knew Claire tried not to do. Claire's eyes were completely glued to the bathroom counter, so long she stared that she lost focus on what she was seeing.

"What are you gonna do if it's positive?" Niki asked, breaking the ice. Claire didn't answer. "I know, there's a lot riding on you for this. But you don't need to do this. This all about what you want, because you're barely even nineteen yet," Niki said. "It's okay to not want them."

"But I do," Claire said, looking at her. "I want them. I want this last thing Peter gave to me. Miracles, you've always called them. After all I've been through, all the shit the world's given me, I need a miracle, and I want them. I truly, deeply want them."

Niki stayed silent after that, and realized their waiting time was over, nudged Claire to take the stick from the counter. Claire looked at it, then looked at her friend, and smiled.

"I'm gonna be a mother!" she said happily, and Niki wrapped the girl with her arms.

"Wait," Niki said, pulling away.

"What?"

"How are we gonna tell Sylar?"

* * *

Five months in. Claire's belly was somewhat huge, but Niki assured her it wasn't the end. It would keep swelling, until it looked round and felt hard as a melon. Claire and Sylar just got back from the doctor's, who told her exactly what Peter said: they were expecting twins.

Sylar insisted in getting a book on baby names on their way to the park, where they were meeting Mohinder, Mia and Molly for the day. The afternoon was delicious, as both of them sat on a bench, after their hellos and hugs from the House of M. Claire placed a tender hand on her growing belly, as she looked out, and saw the view.

The park was an amazing place, out of their usual comfort zone, but no one could deny it was a great place. The grass felt smooth and mowed under her bare feet-Claire decided to abandon her shoes when they arrived.

She could draw her breath and smell everything. Of the grass, of the air that blew her face, even of the hot dogs a Hispanic man was selling not too far away from their seat. It was a great place to raise kids.

"What if, for a girl, Alyssa. It means rational," Sylar said, flipping through the book.

Sylar was Gabriel Gray now; it was the name he put down on documents asking for his name, his signature, which he needed to do a lot of ever since Claire got pregnant, with doctor's visits. But he like being called Sylar, it reminded him of the past he left behind, the person he was trying to become.

Gabriel was okay, if it was spoken by strangers who only knew him by the name he wrote down, but, to friends (he liked to think of the people who gave him a chance for redemption as friends) it was Sylar. It seemed it was only Noah who still called him Gabriel. After what he did to him, he accepted the name graciously.

"It's on the list," Claire said. Their list had grown be to be so much, from Coren for a girl, and Brandon for a boy, to Zach and Zooey.

"What else?" Claire asked.

"James?" Sylar suggested, his eyes scanning the book for a random name. He always liked the name, but, then again, it sounded normal, overused.

"OK, don't look at the book, just suggest a name, one for a girl, one for a boy," Claire said, crossing her legs on the bench and looking him in the eye.

"Alison, and Michael," Sylar answered.

Alison was a variation of the medieval name Alice, which meant truth or noble while Michael was Peter's middle name. They agreed not to put family names, unless they were for middle names, but Sylar guessed it could work if the middle name became the first.

"I like it," Claire answered honestly.

She never liked people who named their children after themselves, and she would throw up a little if she decided to name their son Peter Jr. Michael was appropriate, hardly anyone knew Peter's middle name, christened after the second archangel after Gabriel.

"So Hannah's gonna be Hannah Sarah," Claire said, remembering what Peter told her years before about the name Sarah, that he liked it and he always wanted his daughter to be named that. She'd at least honor his wishes. "And the oldest will either be Alison Marie, or Michael Gabriel."

With that, Sylar looked up from the book, and looked her straight in the eye. She considered him family.

* * *

Everything became a blur for him, his sight was deteriorating, words were played in slow motion, the only thing that was consistent was Claire's titanium hold on his hand as she groaned and screamed in agony.

At first, Sylar heard everything, Dr. Drew's asking, "Is this the father?" and Sylar had to shake his head no.

The 40 something doctor looked confused then an aggravated Claire answered him by saying, "He might as well be." Sylar followed her, held her hand and did everything Peter was supposed to be doing if he was around.

He consoled her, although she always shot back with "Go to Hell!" or "Have a uterus, and then tell me how much it hurts!" but he knew it was just the pain talking.

Now, as Sylar held her hand again, his fingers becoming numb in her touch, everything was blurred. Everything, sights, sounds, were crossed out of his mind, that was, until _he_ came along.

He came out, all covered in goo and crying his lungs out. He couldn't imagine someone that small could emit that kind of sound, earth-shattering, ear-piercing screeches that reminded Sylar of his old school nightmares. Sylar actually felt jealous at Dr. Drew, because he could touch him, hold him and turn him over to the nurse, while he had to hold Claire's hand that felt there was no end to it.

But, fortunately, everything came up to speed again. He could see Claire clearly again, from her hair, dark red now, dyed a few months before the birth, to her distorted face. He switched hands, as Claire screeched and groaned as Hannah came into the world.

"Oh my God," was all Sylar could say. "Oh my God."

"I know," Claire said, looking up.

"You did it. You actually did it," Sylar said, incredulous at the achievement.

"No, we did it," Claire smiled weakly at him.

He kissed her hand, as Dr. Drew handed over the children. Sylar looked at them taking a mental picture of it all; Claire with her sweat-dampened hair, with two children by her side. One wrapped cozily in a blue blanket while the other was in a pink one.

Maybe this was why he chose redemption, forgiveness, to look innocence straight in the eye, and see what life was. Seeing these children, brought into the world their parents fought to be a better place, wrapped in their mother's arms as their uncle stood over them, just as he did at the day their father died at battlefield.

Now he could truly be redeemed, seeing innocence, nativity, the very epitome of good and pure right there, so close he could touch them, hold them like a Holy Grail. They were beautiful, so tiny, God, they were unbelievable.

"Hannah Sarah and Michael Gabriel," Claire said. The nurse wrote the name down on her file, and left the room so that they were left alone.

"Oh my God," Claire said. She looked down at her children, knowing neither of them would get to know their father, other than from pictures and stories from their friends, but also knew that they had another father figure. They had a mother that loved them so much, despite the fact it had only been a few minutes since they met.

"I can't believe how much I love them," Claire said to Sylar. "They're so beautiful."

Hannah latched her fingers around Claire's finger, and the teenage mother felt herself crying, felt the tears streaming down her cheeks as she welcomed her newborns. She looked up to Sylar, the man who was there for her, at every beckon call, every breakdown, every craving and everything in between. Wasn't this man the one who tried to kill her, and succeeded in killing Peter? Wasn't this man the villain in the story?

How did this happen? How did Sylar, of all people, come to be standing over them, caring about them, remorseful and seeking nothing but to be forgiven and redeemed in the eyes of their friends, and God? She liked to say that angels were sent to him, telling him to choose the right path. One of them was Daphne, who Sylar told her about, the other, unmistakably, was Peter.

She knew, deep down, neither of them stopped loving each other, their family ruined 26 years ago, their own lives ruined, but built anew like building blocks.

"Would you like to hold him?" Claire asked Sylar. The ex-serial killer looked almost scared, but certainly surprised. Sylar nodded, and held Michael in his arms.

"Hey, there, buddy," he said softly to the boy. "You and your sister are miracles, you know that?"

* * *

People scattered, some choosing to stay, others back to their homes. It was the twins first birthday, and they celebrated in their new apartment. Sylar had talked her into it, but Peter's apartment was still intact, and was still there if they needed it, because, legally, it belonged to Claire, and she didn't have the heart to put in on the market. So their stuff was divided between their new apartment and Peter's.

Nathan was still reluctant towards Sylar, despite everything he did, with raising the twins, and being there when Peter wasn't. But he loved his daughter enough to not make mayhem with him and the ex-serial killer, so instead, the politician decided to avoid Sylar at all costs. Grandpa Nate the kids called him, or tried to. It came out garbled in a cute one-year-old speech.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Mia asked her, deciding to leave the homely apartment for home. The vigilante married Mohinder six months prior, and, soon after, Molly Walker finally got a mother in the first time in years.

"Tomorrow, it is," Claire answered, giving her friend a hug before she left.

She, in turn, gave both Mohinder and Molly embraces before they went off to Brooklyn. Their birthday party was a fun day, full of candy corn and friends. Claire was happy, in fact, she was delirious.

This was the celebration that brought everyone together. Their friends, their allies got together to celebrate the year anniversary of her and Peter's children. She felt a hand on her waist. Claire turned around and saw Sylar's smiling face.

"Nathan's gone?" Sylar asked her.

"Yeah, Nathan's gone. You don't need to worry about him. He might still hate your guts, but he's not gonna hurt you," Claire smiled at him reassuringly.

"Not so sure about that. He looks intimidating," Sylar said.

"So do you. Just give him your glare and he'll be running for the hills," Claire smiled, remembering his glare. "So who's still here?"

"Hiro, Noah, Greg and Jen," Sylar answered.

"Guess we better check up on them," Claire said, going to the living room to see her children.

But she turned last minute and gave Sylar a kiss on the lips. She could feel him deepen the kiss, place her hand on her waist, but Claire pulled away before they could reach the destination.

"We'll have to wait for that," she smiled.

She went into the living room, painted a green she loved but Sylar despised with his life. It was soft and smooth, covering every inch of their family room, with two children on the floor, building blocks scattered around them with a banner saying Happy Birthday adorning the wall.

Michael was sitting on Noah Bennet's lap, Claire's adoptive father showing Michael how to build the blocks, but Claire's son had a knack for knocking them down to start it all over again.

Hannah, on the other hand, was being held up in the air by Hiro, who seemed to be enjoying the company of the sweet one year old. Claire chuckled as Hannah squealed in her Uncle Hiro's arms.

"So how are they?" Sylar asked his breath on her neck. Claire didn't turn, just looked at her children and her friends, but answered, "They're just wonderful."

* * *

Both Sylar and Claire got woken up by a cry. Claire groaned, recognizing the cry as Hannah's, but then, another voice joined her: Michael. Both of them were awake now.

"It's okay," Sylar said. "I'll get it."

"Thanks," Claire answered, Sylar giving her a kiss on the cheek.

She felt his presence leave the bed, and heard the footsteps leave the bedroom for the kids' room down the hall. The crying became closer and closer, leading Claire to figure out that Sylar brought both kids to the living room instead of just swaying them and cradling them back in their beds.

He always had some different techniques in handling the kids. This night was the epitome of that. Claire heard music turn on, a slow music, and a smooth voice of a man.

Claire got out of bed, wearing nothing but Sylar's shirt that hung low and stopped mid-calf. She saw that Sylar held both kids in his arms, his strength showing, Hannah resting her head on her uncle's shoulder.

Claire leaned against the doorway, and just observed the scene, as if she was afraid she would break the tenderness that set it together. She smiled, as Sylar followed along to the rhythm on the radio.

"For once, in my life, I've got someone who needs me, someone I've needed so long," Sylar sang, cradling both kids.

The scene reminded Claire of her and Peter's first date where Peter sang, too, just words thrown together with rhythm, but it meant so much to her. But, here, it was Sylar who sang, and it wasn't her he was serenading, but the two beautiful children in his arms.

"For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me, and somehow I know I'll be strong…" Sylar kept singing. Claire moved forward, and took Hannah in her arms, surprising Sylar.

She moved closer to him, and felt the warmth of his body against hers as the music became their soundtrack. This was what Claire wanted for herself, a life, with a wonderful man and children.

It might not be the man she imagined it would be, or the life she imagined, but it turned out okay. More than okay, actually. She felt blessed, these gifts were what God gave her, as a present, and she cherished them beyond everything else.

"I love you," Claire finally said. It was the first time she said it, after almost two years of being housemates, and a year since they called each other in a real relationship. Sylar looked at her, and saw that the kids had fallen asleep again.

"I love you, too," he answered. He kissed her, a soft one, so light she couldn't have felt it if she hadn't opened her eyes at the moment. She loved him, and he loved her back, it was all she could ever ask for. Sylar started singing again.

* * *

The autumn air welcomed them. Red and brown leaves were scattered on the ground, as they stood over the graves. They crunched every time they stepped on them; something Michael was enjoying doing just that. Hannah, on the other hand, looked serious and put her hands together in a clasp as she stood with her mother.

It was their usual visit; they came over every six months to visit their departed friends. First, they would visit Ando's, with an engraving on his headstone reading: "Beloved Friend and Hero," and say some nice Japanese sentences their Uncle Hiro taught them.

Then, they went over to Evan's, and Claire sometimes wondered if Hannah could remember him, the man she once loved, in her past life, but as she saw her daughter's face, she decided no. she didn't have any expressions on her face as they passed Evan's headstone, or Hannah's for that matter. The almost two year old just thought it was a coincidence that both of them had the same name.

Then they stood over Peter's grave. The kids knew him, knew of his essence, and knew that, no matter how much Sy was around, that Peter Petrelli was their real father, and he loved them very much, even if he wasn't with him.

Sylar was waiting by the car, having spent more time here talking mindlessly to Peter's headstone as herself. She caught him once, having a sandwich on the ground as he talked to a soldier that would never respond. Maybe Sylar always had that kind of nativity, and it took only Peter to bring it out of him.

"Alright, kids, time to go," Claire said, picking her daughter up while her son held her hand.

"Bye, Daddy," Hannah said, blowing a kiss.

They reached the car, where Sylar was leaning on, his arms crossed with a smile on his face. The lanky brunette man kissed Claire on the forehead, as he loaded both kids in the car, and put on their seatbelts.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"I'm fine. I just like to think every time we visit. See how far we've come, and how much we've changed since everything happened. This place is a good place to think," Claire said, and swept her red hair to the side. "I'm just as sorry that you didn't get to know him, as I am for the kids."

"I think I know him enough. He's my brother, I'll always remember him," Sylar said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Claire gave a meek smile at him. They got in the car, and Claire turned to see her kids intact with smiling faces on.

"Where to, for lunch?" Sylar asked the kids.

"Uncle Greg's!" Michael yelled.

"Uncle Greg's, it is!" Sylar said, just as enthusiastically.

They set off for the road, but Claire couldn't help but see her mirror, and silently said goodbye to Peter, just as she did dozens of times before. But it still hurt every time. She looked at Sylar, and saw her kids through the mirror, Michael holding up his beloved stuffed toy he christened Mayday and Hannah's gracious smile, and thought maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

Despite losing the man she loved, she gained two wonderful children a man that would be by her side through thick and thin. But both of them knew, through everything, Peter was still a remainder, like the dust that forgot to settle, between them.

But Claire finally felt at peace. Leaving the graveyard where she buried many of her friends, starting a new place with her family, with autumn's air blowing through their windows. Claire Petrelli was proud to say, amid chaos and destruction and dysfunctions, she was finally, after all of these years, she was finally, _finally_ fixed.

* * *

It was like a shiver, creeping from his toes to the very head that was giving him a headache. It was an unusual sensation, it was painful, but it was also serene once he got used to it. At first, it felt like a thousand knives stabbing each part of him, until he couldn't bear to contain his pain and screamed for his life.

Then, he found serenity. Peace, as he drew a sharp breath and took in the salty scent of a nearby sea. He opened her eyes, and saw three shadows over him, he instantly panicked.

One of them was a man, about old enough to be his father, 50 something, aging quickly. By his side was an exquisitely beautiful woman, in her mid twenties and she wore a smile that told him she knew more than he did. At this point, anyone could know more than him.

The other shadow was looking away, but, he could tell from the structure, and the willowy hair, that she was a girl, probably a naïve teenager. The older man came closer towards him. He tried to get away, but it was like he was glued to the hardwood floor.

"I don't know you, I don't know…" he said. The man approached him closer.

"You don't need to," he said. "Just know you're among friends."

"That's right," the older girl said.

Then the man whispered into his ear, with the presence of the two other girls, and in came the words that would change and shape his life forever more: "Welcome to Crestblade."

* * *

A/N: Something to keep you guessing for the sequel. It's coming out in April. Might sound like a long way down, but I have a companion coming up, called Snapshots, exploring your favorite TFT pairs. I know I promised the soundtrack as soon as the final chapter came out, but my computer has been funky, and I cannot upload it. Luckily, it's going to repair, and hopefully I can put it up then.

You guys have been nothing but supportive, and thank you for all the encouragement!

Please, virtually applaud if you like it!

-Love, Aly


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